

♦ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


I IBITEB STATES OF ASIEEICA 










.( 

* 


$ 






1 

I 

> 

r » ^ 






I 





• - W f 

'r* -*T ■■ • 

, 


• / 




# 


I I • 







1 

. * • 




k 




L' 4, 


4 




\ 


«4 


*1 « 

• t 


k N 






%4 


9 




f 


.f 

f 


4 




I 










I 


% 




*» 


i* s 


« 


% 


I 

i 


i 


» 


i 


I 


# 


I 

i 


1 


f 




i 




I 




4 


I 



« 


4 


t 


4 *^ 




\ 


I 


\ 


4 





I I 


4 




I 


% 




f 


4 


♦ 


4 


« 


I 


« 




I 




; . 


t 




* 


A 


I 


« 







K 


*% 



\ 


P 







I I 

s 









WAS SHE ENGAGED? 




. x > • * 
»' « 


, V, 

-f“ >■ 


Tf* 


9 

.*• 


'’Xj-fi' 


^ -s 




.w • 


V'T 


v 





:v 


' '.'h 

•v »• I 




I i' 


n» 


♦ 


^ * ,i 
* * • 


X'; 

' - • L 

^ ' 1 * 


. I 


• • • 




•• 4 

, •». 


• » . 

‘ V 

< • 


* ' a: ' . > 


, ^ 


■vX, 


* ^ J-N 
< • 'l ^ * 



:>‘- 


' n 


V. • 


. > 




A 



'f' 


i 

r. •- 


it 




k* 


.V • ‘ 

l>. , *■ 

\».**'. * 

r-tv’. 5 ? 

■ ■ ’ .' /■/'•X i-r' / ■ ' 

^ 1 -^-. •'»'. ’ il.. 

!p? V pra.: ^ *. .i' 

rt' '■} 

'■■ -A/ 

f 


i 


I 

• ' 


V 

4 


.r- ‘ 

< '\ 




\. 


f t 


'.V 

^ / 


"''•V 


•■V' • 







•vt-^ <1 

s 



. ■ 

. ■• Y , .ir:'”' ■ 


- 1 . , ,- •^•i * .*» 


'M';- 


T 


&Y 

' 



JOS 


V!-’' W . 

- •♦» V. 

; 'I v'% . ■ i ' — 


. r 


(iMPt. vy 


.•’v; 


* 

• •■ .\s .*' 


%v 


’■'?/ • 


'V • ^ * 

• •• ‘ 


^ 9 • (, * 

-- J- Jl' 

K ■> 

. .^•- - 



-1 * tr'^^ 


P v: ■. .. ■ ' ■ .. 

,'-,W’' i ’<• '■ ■ s. ’*> *-^ ■ ■ ■ 

'^■v■>' .■■• ■ ■■' - ' ►, ■ ■•■ - • 0 ,: 

7 ,- .•.•• ■;■■'• -’V -j '••*•...■.*• ‘ •• • ; ".; : 

‘;^ 'S' 'S'- ‘ ’#'.r ^ ■’’•'■■ 


■'■ < 0 O-. - F ^ 

t .*• • *•.. , A - ' 

' ' , r • .*>*>. 




WAS SHE ENGAGED? 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO, 
1871 . 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


CHAPTER I. 

I WAS moodily looking on two concise notes, 
written by the same fair hand, when two lines from 
Meg Merrilies’ incantation entered my mind ; 
and, twisting the scented notes together, I lit them 
with a match, and threw them into the grate, 
humming, fiercely, — 

“ Twist ye ! twine ye I even so, 

Mingled shades of joy and woe 1*^ 

One of them was a written acceptance of me for 
better or worse, and the other dismissed me for- 
ever, as worse only. 

The writer and myself had become so accus- 
tomed to each other’s sallies, bantering, and re- 
partee during the early part of our acquaintance, 
we were hopeless of understanding each other’s 
real feelings by word or look, and were, therefore, 
compelled to pen any words of serious import, in 
order to make them worthy of the attention due 
to truth. Though, when face to face, we would 
1 * ( 5 ) 


6 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


say more in a day than we would stand to in a 
month/' yet when anything was set down in black 
and white each one knew the other would abide by 
it at any risk or expense. 

Therefore, when I was determined to end an un- 
certainty that made Sarah Carroll sometimes my 
beloved and sometimes another’s, I wrote to that 
eftect, or else she would not have believed that we 
must have a formal betrothal within two days, or 
see each other no more; and when she desired me 
to understand that our love-life was at an end, she 
wrote my sentence, fearing I would not have taken 
it from her lips. As friends we would have en- 
dured for life, and blessed each other with our 
sympathy, but in love we failed each other, and 
when we found we could not be all that we should 
be in our new characters, it was too late to be con- 
tented with a weaker bond. 

Having seen the blue-and-white flame of the 
notes curl and twine to my satisfaction, I took up 
another, and read it over and over to drift my 
thoughts from the troubles it was the innocent 
cause of, to those it contained in itself. It was a 
metaphysical application of the homoeopathic the- 
ory, checking sorrow by sorrow ; for the letter was 
written by my sister, informing me of the death 
of the heroine of my school-days, and inviting me, 
in her mother’s name, to be present at the funeral. 
It had arrived too late to enable me to attend, as I 
received it the day the funeral took place; but, as 
the next best thing I could do to show my respect 


WAS SUB ENGAGED? 7 

for her memory, I postponed going to a concert 
with Sarah that same evening. 

I sat at home, thinking of my boyhood’s first 
love, and all the childish dreams and petty cares 
which attended it, and moralizing on the uncer- 
tainty of life and the vanity of earthly schemes, 
while I sent a note to Sarah, saying that I could 
not, without violence to my own feelings, and dis- 
respect to the living and the dead, be present at an 
evening’s entertainment the day a true and tried 
young friend was being laid into her silent grave. 

As the concert was to be repeated, I proposed 
extending the engagement to the next one; but 
that, as I expected, did not meet the case. . She 
had never heard me speak of a female acquaint- 
ance, and was unreasonably jealous when she heard 
I had one whose death would grieve me, and there- 
fore she replied, excusing my escort altogether. 

Though the term true and tried young friend” 
was rather strained, as I do not suppose the de- 
ceased thought six times of me in as maiy years, 
and she had never been tried at school without 
being found wanting, yet I looked upon myself 
as a martyr to friendship when I read Sarah’s cold 
letter, and prepared my mind for any consequences 
that would follow, with a morbid feeling of in- 
difference. 

Next day I called in person to make an apology, 
and, notwithstanding the smiles of welcome that 
greeted me, I could see by the red spots on either 
cheek that I had fully aroused her resentment. 


8 


WAS Snm ENGAGED? 


As soon as I was seated I began by saying, — 

I am very sorry that I disappointed you, Sarah ; 
but you must come to the next one, which will 
doubtless be just as good/’ 

Oh, I beg of you to forget it; I was not at all 
disappointed ; but before I make another engage- 
ment with you I would like to be informed how 
many ‘true and tried young friends’ you have 
whose death might interfere with it,” she said, with 
a meek smile that was always used to mask the 
ugliness of her temper. 

“ Several ! every friend I have, Sarah ! I love 
them all too well to hear their requiem in a con- 
cert-hall !” I exclaimed, hurt at hearing what I 
considered a slur on the innocent girl who had just 
been buried, and also at hearing my own words 
which I knew were affected, quoted back to me 
with so much sarcasm. 

“ Then I will not risk another, lest an epidemic 
should break out among them,” she said, with the 
same provoking, hard smile. 

I must not pretend that I was a submissive lover, 
or that I would overlook or smile at anything, 
while courting, which I would resent when mar- 
ried ; and my looks did not help to restore peace. 

I did not speak until I could command my voice 
as easily as she did, and then I said, — 

“ I had better go now, and call again when we 
both feel more amiable ; for if we suffer this cold- 
blooded warfare to proceed much further, there 
will be an end to our friendship.” 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


9 


Oh, no ! nothing can prevent you and I from 
being friends^ Mr. Pearsoriy and the very best of 
friends; but, if you have other engagements, do not 
let me detain you, sir,’’ she replied, with a polished 
evenness of modulation that was irritating when 
the meaning of her words was so hostile, and 
emphasizing friends and Mr, Pearson to convey to 
my mind the thought that we could never more be 
more t\vdi\ friends to each other. 

“ Amen, with all my heart; let us be friends, or 
anything else that will end this bickering life we 
have lived, Sarah,” I said, bowing myself out, and 
vainly endeavoring to return the calm assuring 
smile that followed me to the door. 

Next day a polite letter was handed to me, which 
ended with a hope that we would ever be friends, 
and remember the pleasant hours we had spent in 
each other’s society to the end of our lives, however 
far apart destiny should diverge our paths. 

Such was the end of our love-life, about one 
year from the time it had begun ; and I could hardly 
realize, as the flame died away and left only the 
black remains of the two notes covered with slate- 
colored hieroglyphs, that so many promises and 
hopes as were twined in that life lay there, twisting 
and twiaing in the ashes, as if my lines from Meg 
Merrilies had bewitched them. As they finally 
flew up the chimney, my mind was carried back to 
the first impressions I had formed of her character, 
and I wished I had saved the words and thoughts 
that followed close on our first acquaintance for 


10 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


the oue destined by Providence to be my wife, by 
never letting these first impressions be effaced. 
“You must not judge by appearances,’^ is a much- 
abused maxim ; being laid down so often to us in 
our youth that it is a wonder we ever afterwards 
believe the evidence of our eyes, or that some of 
our courts will admit sight as evidence ; but if I 
had retained the thoughts I judged by Sarah’s ap- 
pearance when I first saw her, and not let myself 
be charmed out of them by the brilliancy of her 
wit and beauty, I would have been better by many 
a night’s careless rest, and many a friend neglected 
for her sake. 

But the very stars conspired to mislead me ; for 
before I was deeper than my ankles in love our 
attention was caught by a meteor shooting across 
the heavens one evening as we were out walking, 
and bantering in a way that approached the abuse 
of our most sacred and serious feelings. 

“ Wish ! wish, while that star is falling, and 
you will get your wish!” exclaimed Sarah, point- 
ing to it with the hand she had withdrawn from 
my arm. 

“ Well, I wished for something. Did you?” I 
asked, after the meteor had vanished. 

“ Yes ! What did you wish for ?” she asked, coax- 
ingly. 

“ Tell me what you wished for first, and then I 
will tell you,” I said, to get time ; for I had not 
wished at all, the movement was so rapid. 

“ Oh, with a gallant beau by her side a lady can 


WAS. SHE ENGAGED? 


11 


want for nothing, so I merely wished that you 
might get your wish,” she replied. 

There was so much cunningness and skill dis- 
played in her pleasant acting of happiness and 
generosity, I was no longer at a loss for a wish, 
and I hurriedly replied, as if afraid the thought 
would escape me, or discretion would hold back 
the words, — 

That was very good of you, and I think that 
must have been my lucky star ; for it is in your 
power to grant the wish, Sarah,” I said, recovering 
her hand. 

‘•Well, what was it, then ?” she asked, eagerly. 

“I wished that you might love me half as much 
as I love you. Will you grant it?” I asked. 

There was a pressure on my arm in apprecia- 
tion of my ready speech, but otherwise she was 
not the one to be surprised into the betrayal of any 
weakness or feeling; so she merely chided me for 
the moderation of my wish, since I might have 
just as cheaply wished for a great deal more. 

“But half as much as I love you is a great deal 
to begin with, Sarah,” I said, with a gravity that 
ought to have choked me, considering how big a lie 
I concealed in it; and then, after a little more ban- 
tering, she said she would grant it, seeing that I 
was contented with so little. 

Thus our flirting began in earnest; for she so 
often denied and acknowledged the binding of her 
word, that our courtship was no better than flirting. 


12 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


until I at length insisted on having her promise in 
writing. 

Only the first and last of the many letters of our 
love-correspondence were burned; and to complete 
the work I took all that came between those two 
from my writing-desk, where they had been filed 
with counting-house precision, and, twisting them 
all by twos, burned them, repeating Meg Merri- 
lies’ lines over and over, while I touched them otf 
with lucifer matches. 

As there was to be no return of anything, such 
as usually follows a sentimental quarrel, but each 
one left the other to dispose of them according to 
taste, I made a dramatic display over my share 
that proved how little heart was ever in the 
engagement. 

As I came to the last of her letters I found some 
written to me by the one who was now dead, and be 
gan to read them to divert my mind from the work 
of destruction I had now completed. From the 
polished non-committal notes of a cit^ belle to the 
hasty compositions of a twelve-year-old school-girl 
was a change that was interesting; and if they gave, 
me pleasure at the age of twenty-four, they must 
have caused my cap to fly up with boyish glee and 
enthusiasm at the age of fourteen. The first one, 
containing several blots, announced the startling 
intelligence that Willy Manville liadjyroiposed to carry 
her books home from school for her, and my brow must 
have darkened with wrath against Willy, as I read 
it first; but then I must have sent my cap to the 


WAS SUB ENGAGED 9 


13 


ceiling with a three times three for Mary, as she 
added that she replied she could carry them herself^ 
as she loas as strong as he was, 

I read the few letters she sent me after that one, 
and thought of the boyish effusions I sent her in 
return during the first six months, and then of the 
occasional visits I paid my native town, until I had 
almost persuaded my heart that it was Mary and 
not Sarah it had lost. 

So earnest was I in my determination to drive 
the memory of my broken engagement from my 
mind, I tried to think myself bereaved by the death 
of my betrothed bride; though I was conscious 
that she did not long hold out against "Willy Man- 
ville's attack, and that, as she had been engaged to 
him before she died, I lost nothing but a schoolmate 
by her death. 

But the feeling continued, and grew for a week, 
until I thought of the cold clay settling around the 
form that I loved, with an intensity that left me 
indifterent to every other care, and I looked into 
the grave as the place where my hopes were buried, 
and read “Gray’s Elegy” and “Young’s Night 
Thoughts” until Narcissa seemed a bride that 
Death had taken from me. 

When I could sustain the delusion no longer, and 
my bubble grief had burst, I was totally indifterent 
to the real loss I had sustained, and Sarah was as 
a stranger to my mind. 

Though this was the first writing of dismissal I 
had received from Sarah, it must not' be under- 
2 


14 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


stood that it was the first time I had been dismissed 
by her; for oiir quarrels had been frequent, and 
often led to temporary estrangements, as the follow- 
ing extract from a letter will show : 

My duties to other friends were neglected for 
more than a week, that I might copy the ‘ Culprit 
Fay’ for Sarah, who had declared to me that she 
could not read it with any satisfaction in print, as 
the witchery of the tale was lost in the prosy type 
of the book. 

“ The care and patience I had bestowed in writing 
and punctuating it, that I might make it as pre- 
sentable as possible, led me to anticipate a tender 
scene at the presentation. With the full assur- 
ance of her thanks, I walked toward her house, 
repeating in my mind, ‘If receiving gives you as 
much pleasure as I receive in giving, it is all I ask,’ 
which little speech I had composed to be in readi- 
ness the moment the first word of thanks had 
escaped from her lips. She is very fond of com- 
plimentary speeches and ready retorts; and this 
was not the first time I had formed a polite sentence 
and* held it in reserve for a proper occasion. 

“Alas! how my fond hopes vanished all, when, 
with a look of surprise, she exclaimed, ‘Well, 
what a goose you are to waste your energies in 
transcribing a poem like that from plain print into 
a business hand that destroys its romance, and 
would ruin my eyes and wrinkle my brows to de- 
cipher it !* 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


15 


‘‘‘Rather than such a heart-rending catastrophe 
should happen, Sarah, I will remove it from your 
hands, and preserve the beauty of the eyes and 
brows that would become a diadem,’ I replied, 
taking the manuscript from her hands before she 
was aware of it, placing it on a chair, and seating 
myself securely upon it. 

“ She was slightly taken aback by such a peremp- 
tory movement, but instantly rallied, and said, with 
coquettish indifference, — 

“‘What was your object in writing it, pray ? 
Some lady asked you, to try your patience, and in 
your weariness you dreamed that it was I! Won’t 
she feel complimented, though, when she learns 
the mistake you have made in bringing it up here 
to me?’ ^ 

‘“Not more than I feel, after having banished 
myself from court for a week, that the task might 
be completed before I returned,’ I replied. 

“ ‘ Oh ! I beg pardon. Sir Knight ; and since it is 
such a task for you to do me a favor, I cannot do 
otherwise than appreciate it. Welcome back to 
court!’ she exclaimed. 

“ ‘No ; I do not wish you. to appreciate it for the 
pains I have taken with it, and I do not think you 
will for the trouble you will have in getting it from 
me,’ I returned, sullenly. 

“ ‘ Philosophy says we prize everything in pro- 
portion to the labor we employ in securing it,’ 
she said, with a mischievous expression that I well 
understood. 


16 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


‘ That is poor philosophy ! The pains we take to 
secure a prize only proves how much we think it 
is worth, or how much we desire to keep others 
from getting it; and when we have it, the question 
will surely come up. Is it worth what it has cost 
us? and then comes the reaction of feeling,’ I re- 
torted. 

‘ Then I should say it were better for the prize 
not to be secured, since “the pleasure’s in the 
chase,” as the old song says,’ she said, looking at 
the manuscript, but, by the flashing of her eyes, 
betraying the ambiguity of her meaning. 

“I have not been near her for three days, and 1 
know trouble is brewing; but I deserve it for let- 
ting her whims control me, and herself despise 
me for it.” 

I hope the reader’s patience will be as inexhausti- 
ble as the person’s to whom I wrote so confidentially 
of my scenes with Sarah ; but I give the letter here 
for the sake of introducing the life I had led with 
her before the opening of the story. I have begun 
with the end of our engagement, to save the story 
from the dull monotony of a year’s cooing; but I 
must give some clue to an engagement and a per- 
son exerting an influence through the whole story, 
and, before I introduce other persons and other 
engagements, dispose of those on hand. 

No one, except a misanthrope or a jealous critic 
of her own sex, could look at Sarah without feel- 
ing, whatever her faults were, she was a very supe- 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


17 


rior girl. She had lustrous black eyes, and a brow 
so high and noble-looking that the diadem I had 
said it would become was not introduced for the 
purpose of flattering her ; for it had often occurred 
to me as a suitable ornament, as I gazed enchanted 
on the high-born style of her beauty. Her mouth 
was so delicately and firmly cut, a person could 
imagine that the keenness and force of her repartee 
was owing to the shape and temper her sentences 
must have acquired in passing between her lips. 
The greatest charm of her beauty was, however, 
in her unconsciousness of it, or, being conscious, 
left to weaker minds the foolishness of being vain 
of anything given by nature for a short season, 
while she made her wit, and the intelligence of 
her conversation, her greatest attraction to her 
admirers. 

This, I must say, had been her greatest attraction 
to me, who held beauty in distrust, unless I thought 
the mental and moral as well favored and developed 
as the physical person. With others it was mostly 
the same, for while her beauty attracted them to 
her side, her bright intellect bound them fast there. 

Knowing her power of making and retaining 
admirers, she often abused it, by*spurning and re- 
calling them at her pleasure; so that, though I had 
many rivals, none of them feared her less or suflFered 
as little from her caprice as I did ; and now that 
I had resigned all claims to her favor, I could not 
feel that my loss was some other man’s gain. 

During the first few weeks after our quarrel, I 
2 * 


18 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


tried to disperse any regrets my lonely hours would 
awake in me, by recalling the many outcroppings 
of selfishness and heartlessness I had observed 
during our intercourse; for, while her manner 
of saying a heartless speech softened the hardness 
of the sentiment at the time, I only remembered 
the spirit of her words now, and wondered why 
her pretty way of saying them could ever make 
me forget their true meaning and intent. 

Wit, in the mouth of a beauty especially, is the 
ignis-fatum of truth; and, while we are deluded 
by it, we fail to discover the worth of her words or 
herself. With it Sarah could parry a heart-search- 
ing inquiry, turn aside an accusation, leave a ques- 
tion of ethics unanswered, evade any grasp made 
at her opinion, and with the skill of a diplomatist 
search out another’s mind, while she veiled her 
own from the most critical scrutiny. 

I may as well end it by saying that Sarah was 
too much for me, and I could not love her as one 
that I could admire less and trust more. 


CHAPTER IL 

A MONTH had now elapsed since I burned my 
letters (and with them all the evidence necessary 
for proving a breach of promise against Sarah), 
and X was as cheerful and contented as a man need 
wish to be. 

The number of my friends in the great city in 
which I had struggled for years did not exceed 
the fingers of one hand ; and counting those only 
to whom I opened my heart, the number could be 
reduced to two. 

One of those had been Sarah, of course, and 
the other one was the person to whom I had writ- 
ten the letter quoted from in the last chapter ; as 
he had been absent from the city at that time. As 
the monotony of spending every evening over 
‘‘ Gibbon’s Roman Empire” was beginning to be- 
come wearisome, I received word from my friend, 
informing me that he would be in the city the day 
I would get his note, and he would be glad to see 
me at his rooms as soon as my engagements would 
let me call. As I had no engagement on hand 
since my engagement to take Sarah to the concert, 
there was nothing to prevent me from calling on 
him that same evening; and I was rejoiced at the 
return of one who for years had contributed so 

( 19 ) 


20 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


much to making my evenings the happiest part of 
my days. Very soon after dusk I stood at his 
door, thumping with all my might over a plate as 
long and as wide as a brick, with ‘‘ Robert Heber- 
ton. Artist,’’ engraved in copper-plate style on it. 

I rushed past the dull-eared old negress who an- 
swered my summons, and bounded up the stairs, 
three steps at a stride, until I heard the artist shout 
from the top, — 

“ Bravo, old fellow ! I knew it was you by the 
way the 

* Quivering drawbridge rocked and rung;* 

and we met with the noisy demonstrations usually 
indulged in, in a building let out for offices ; with 
no one besides the old janitress there after six 
o’clock. Here he led a sort of Bohemian life, 
painting, sleeping, and spending such evenings as 
he expected my visits on, and every other evening 
for aught I knew to the contrary. As he was 
always cheerful, and moderately fleshy, I suppose 
he fared better than Bohemians are believed to 
fare generally, and his living so apparently lonely 
was a matter of choice rather than of necessity. 

Though we had known each other for years, I 
had no ’ knowledge of his affairs beyond that he 
took his meals at a first-class boarding-house close 
hy, and carried on a slight flirtation at the table 
with an old maid who sat near him ; and he knew 
as little of mine, except that having once asked 
his opinion of Sarah’s picture our relationship was 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


21 


explained, and left open to discussion ever after- 
wards. With the pursuits and annoyances of our 
daily lives we were much better acquainted, and 
conversed with each other about them until we 
knew by report every person and duty agreeable 
or repugnant to each other's tastes. 

After a few words of greeting, and many repeti- 
tions of shaking hands, we agreed to consult our 
comfort and taste by ascending to our usual place 
of retirement, — the roof of the house. We had 
not sat on it for two months, or more, and, quickly 
doffing our boots and putting on slippers, we crept 
out the trap-door to the slanting roof. It was well 
adapted to our discussions, and I always followed 
him out there with pleasure, and sat, or stretched 
out, beside him, star gazing, and ventilating theo- 
ries that had been ventilated a hundred times by 
us on similar occasions. Yet they always seemed 
new to us, and whenever we paused in an argu- 
ment, the hum from the street below, and the 
music from a neighboring ball, where a band con- 
ducted their rehearsals every evening, supplied us 
with fresh thought, and gave a tinge of sublimity 
to our feelings that would be missed in a different 
situation. 

During the summer nights we often lingered on 
that perilous position until The Bear" had made 
a half wheel on its faithful pivot, the “ Polar star;" 
for up there both in a measure felt above the vexar 
tions and trials which chafe the youthful spirit ere 
it is broken to the drudgery of life. We were cer- 


22 


WAS SHU ENGAGED? 


tain of each other’s sympathy when we complained 
of anything that made our pursuits disagreeable to 
us; he in the studio and I in the counting-house 
had our sensitive parts often touched by a rough 
hand, and he was as quick to hate the meanness 
and trickery of ‘‘trade” as I was to despise the 
consequential upstart who insulted him while pre- 
tending to patronize the fine arts. 

In four previous “ misunderstandings” with 
Sarah he had been made my confidant, as her 
friends seemed to be set on our separation, and 
had fomented and laughed at our quarrels when- 
ever they could, and I had no one besides Robert 
to condole with me; for though Sarah’s mother 
had been my ally, I avoided her whenever her 
daughter had a quarrel against me. 

It was, therefore, only natural that Robert should 
lightly regard our pique about the “ Culprit Fay,” 
and have supposed, instead of leading to a decided 
quarrel at the first excuse, that it was all smooth 
sailing ag^in ; so we had been scarcely stretched 
on the roof before he said, — 

“ Well, it is a'll up, I suppose, between you and 
Miss Sarah ? I mean made of course : it must 
be six weeks now since you devoted yourself to 
that delightful employment, which in the German 
is properly expressed by the soft and musical word 
ahschreiben'^ 

“Yes, Bob; you may laugh at me now, for it 
will be your last opportunity : Sarah and I have 
agreed to have no more scenes for the benefit of 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


23 


our admiring friends ; for, though fun and amuse- 
ment to them, they were pain and unhappiness 
and death to us. We will never again see enough 
of each other to be offended at each other’s want 
of appreciation, or be made miserable by the chills 
and fevers of love,'’ I said, with pathetic verbosity. 

“ A final quarrel, is it ?” he asked in surprise, 
being more impressed by my manner of speaking 
than the meaning of my words. 

“No; but a final reconciliation: we can be 
friends, as the term goes, without seeing each 
other, I am sure,” I replied, with an effort at in- 
difference, being conscious of having made a use- 
less display of feeling in my other speech. 

He plucked a nail out of a shingle, and, after 
having demonstrated a few mathematical problems 
on the moon-lit roof, he said, — 

“ Well, if it has come to that at last, I can tell 
you I have long expected it: and if you have made 
yourself a laughing-stock for any of your friends, 
you have not for me ; for a man so devoted to a 
woman as you were to Sarah is not an object to be 
laughed at ; men have lost their heads by losing 
their hearts first, before to-day, and will after our 
time.” 

“ I do not blame you, or any one, for making 
merry at my expense ; I could do so myself with- 
out much effort,” I replied, trying to look as if I 
had a merry time over it already. 

“Well, so you may, now that you are out of it ; 
ever since the world began men have loved and 


24 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


married and died, and will to the end of time ; and 
the greatest and wisest of them all have often 
turned out to be very little and very foolish when 
tested in the crucible of love by some girl of not 
more than seventeen summers’ growth,” he added. 

‘‘ That ought to be a source of comfort to me ; 
but still I cannot say it is : I feel utterly disgusted 
with my experience, and I was never fond of mak- 
ing friends with my foibles because they had been 
the guests of great men before they were mine.” 

This will illustrate our way of dealing with a 
subject that had often before been under our treat- 
ment, and upon which we had exhausted all our 
practical and theoretical knowledge. The theme 
which has exercised the pens of so many authors, 
and been the soul of all romance and poetry from 
the time there was any romance, could not have 
escaped us ; and though our arguments were not 
confined to that subject, yet they often waxed warm 
upon it. He, being well read in history, poetry, 
romance, and metaphysics, was entitled to be heard 
for his borrowed lore, and I could not be denied 
the credit of having experience for my Mentor. I 
asked and was not refused, I pleased and was re- 
warded, I offended and was punished, I rebelled 
and was discarded. 

Like the Moslem tyrant, who in a passion ex- 
changes a lifetime’s power over a slave for a 
momentary indulgence of the bowstring, Sarah 
crowded into a diminutive note the wrath and ven- 
geance she might have for years eked out to me. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


25 


This evening the news I had to tell Robert, and 
the questions I had to ask him, were alike forgot- 
ten in the one great topic he started our conversa- 
tion on ; for we talked of it to the exclusion of 
everything else. 

By criticising Sarah more freely than he had 
ever before done, he had aroused a championship 
in me that I did not think myself willing to un- 
dertake, and when I could no longer combat the 
force and truth of his strictures, I cried, — 

“Oh, bother! I give up; I do not care now 
whether' she has a lump of lead or a piece of char- 
coal where her heart ought to be ; so let us go 
below and look at your new sketches, if you have 
any!’’ for I was annoyed at the ground he took 
to prove that Sarah, if she ever had a heart, had 
let it before my time, and that I was not the first 
who had been “ passing” dear to her. 

“Well, let us go down; I have a good many 
new sketches ; for this is my favorite season, when 
the woods, instead of being green all over, are 
(to use the language of an old housekeeper up 
there) like a great, patched bed-quilt: the oaks 
turning red, the maples brown, and the other trees 
yellow, or every shade between red and yellow,” he 
replied. 

Half an hour was spent in looking the sketches 
over, and when we had examined them all, he said, 
as if he had been thinking of it during his descrip- 
tions, — 

“ You will have no place to spend your evenings 
3 


26 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


now, and as a man will become boorish when cut 
off altogether from female society, you had better 
come with me some evening and let me introduce 
you to some of my old friends. You will like 
them, I know, and I would have asked you down 
there before this, only you had not many evenings 
to spare. It is the family of my guardian, a kind- 
hearted man, who took me from some indifferent 
relatives after my parents died, and made my life 
and youth more pleasant to me. As he is an artist, 
it was under his fostering care I learned to paint ; 
but he has been bedridden for some years, and as 
I knew myself to be more trouble than help in the 
house, I moved my lodgings up here out of their 
way. I usually spend two evenings of each week 
there, and they will be glad to welcome you, too; 
for they know you already almost as well as I do, 
as I tell them who my acquaintances are, and 
everything else that would interest them in their 
retired life.’’ 

^‘You have not interested them with my love 
affairs? they have been interesting to too many 
already,” I said, alarmed lest in telling them about 
me he had told them what I considered the most 
interesting thing in my life; with the egotism the 
reader has doubtless observed in all persons who 
call themselves lovers. 

‘‘ Oh, certainly not : you will never find me 
guilty of a breach of confidence ; besides, there is a 
young lady in the house who, I am sure, has a 
different idea of love from that which you found 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


27 


upon Mulberry Street ; and would, in her love for 
truth, and faith in the genuine article, object to 
hear it spoken of in that way,’^ he said, in a sar- 
castic way he had with him. 

‘‘ You are slightly disrespectful, but, as I am not 
in the spirit to preach on the sweetness and ecstasy 
of the articles of my faith, I forgive you, Bob,'’ I 
humbly returned. 

He had by this time packed away all his sketches; 
and, taking down a case of miniatures, he said, ‘‘I 
will show you pictures of both father and daughter, 
for there are no other members of the fanfily living; 
so that, when you go down with me, which 1 sup- 
pose you will, you can distinguish the one from the 
other.” 

The last words were spokei]^ith an attempt at 
pleasantry to eftace, perhaps, the sarcasm of his 
former speech. 

We looked at the maiden’s first, a sweet and 
lovely, rather than a handsome, face; and when I 
exchanged it for the father’s, he replaced it in the 
case, among others of the same size and style. I 
was soon satisfied with the father’s, as it had no- 
thing remarkable in it, — a benevolent face, luxuri- 
ant gray hair, glasses through which intelligent 
eyes looked out calmly, — and I returned it to him, 
and asked him to let me look more attentively at 
the daughter’s picture. 

He took one from the case, which in size and 
general appearance resembled the one I had seen. 


28 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


but, when I took it to the light, it proved to be a 
picture of Sarah, painted when she was more girl- 
ish than I had ever seen her, but still a likeness 
that could not be disputed, however he had hap- 
pened to have it among his friends. 

I looked at it for some time with intense adaiira- 
tion, tracing every lineament and every change 
that had been made in her by time; and then, my 
astonishment increasing, I cried, Why, Bob ! this 
is Sarah’s picture, and not that one I had a moment 
ago. Where did you get it ? and why have you 
got it, pray?” 

He colored, and laughed as he saw the mistake, 
and, viewing it at a distance with the air of a con- 
noisseur, he carelessly said, — 

That is the picture of a young lady whose por- 
trait I painted six years ago. I made it clan- 
destinely, for I think she was very handsome, do 
you not?” 

‘‘Yes, to be sure I do ! But are you in the habit 
of making duplicates whenever you paint a hand- 
some young lady’s portrait? Don’t you see that 
this is Sarah’s picture, though it is not so much 
like her now?” I asked. 

“J^o, I should not think it is so much like the pic- 
ture of her that you showed me ; photographs are 
a bad invention, they cannot be bribed to flatter,” 
he evasively returned. 

“ Oh, artists can, you admit, then ?” I retorted, 
as I turned the picture over and over, to catch 


JFAS SHE ENGAGED? 


29 


every shade of light on it, and every change it ad- 
mitted. 

It was the loveliest picture I had ever seen, and 
though I was conscious that Sarah was no longer 
as young and as soft looking, yet I felt all the old 
feelings come swelling back to ray heart again. 
Whether the original was like it or not did not 
matter then ; the mind does not wait to reason 
when the eye lets a flood of pleasure into it. 

The purest style of Italian beauty was before 
me ; the eyes and brow, which were queenly in 
Sarah proper, were softened in the picture by an 
air of pensive innocence that did the artist great 
credit; for no one but a true-hearted genius could 
throw so much delicacy, sensibility, and woman- 
hood into ivory. 

Sarah had once shown me one somewhat like it, 
but ashamed of the change that time had made in 
her, she took it away before I could well examine 
it. How long Eobert had this one, and why he ^ 
had never before shown it to me, were questions I 
forgot to ask in my great desire to dispossess him 
of it; and I pleaded and promised, until, glad to 
escape from more questioning, perhaps, he yielded 
to my importunity. The moment he consented I 
rushed out with it, lest he should repent; but I 
paused to look at it by every lamp-post I passed on 
my way home ; and such was my infatuation with 
it, that nothing but the lateness of the hour pre- 
vented me from seeking, that night, a reconcilia- 
tion with the original. 


3 * 


30 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


All night long I lay thinking of the past and the 
fatnre; and now and then got up to turn the gas 
on that I might have a fresh view of the Madonna; 
but an hour’s rest towards morning restored reason, 
and I put the picture away. 


CHAPTER III. 


I FEAR some doubt will exist in the reader’s 
mind as to who is to be the hero of this story: 
and to prevent any misunderstanding on that im- 
portant question, as well as to save myself from 
the charge of egotism, let me, before I further pro- 
ceed, say that Robert Heberton fills that digni* 
fied but, to a modest mind, embarrassing position. 
Yes, these pages are before you merely for the 
purpose of introducing him as a candidate for your 
sympathy; and if I am obliged to intrude myself 
too often upon your notice, please remember that 
I only come for the purpose of presenting him, — the 
master of the ceremonies introducing the lion of 
the evening, or the fashionable modiste preparing 
the bride for the bridal. As he lived a great deal 
in himself, I cannot be expected to do more than 
follow the circumstances which reveal him ; for, 
though we were old acquaintances, yet there is 
always a limit to the intimacy between men, Da- 
mon and Pythias though they may be. To be 
sure, they know how each other stand on moral 
and political questions, whether they are generous 
or penurious and mean, philanthropic or cynical, 
modest or assuming, but their hopes, their em- 
barrassments, their disappointments they safely 

( 31 ) 


32 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


lock up for their own cogitation after their school 
days are over. Then they might confide the no 
great secret of whether they intended to be a 
professor, a president, or a sailor, and which of 
all the girls in the school they would fight for ; 
but even in the story of the love of David and 
Jonathan we read of generous, self-sacrificing af- 
fection, rather than of confidential interchange of 
heart-thoughts. 

Samson and Delilah, whose bonds were those 
of lust on the one side and cupidity on the other, 
could more easily ask and give the heart-secrets ; 
and so can two women, even though they may 
lack the confidence in each other’s love and honor 
which men have. 

As is generally the case, I condemned all her 
sex with Sarah, and did not expect to derive much 
pleasure from Robert’s kind ofiSces in introducing 
me to his friend, since the honors of the house 
were in the keeping of an agreeable-looking young 
lady; but I consented to go, hoping I should find 
him a lover there, and have an opportunity of 
finding him unworthy of my confidence, since he 
had kept her existence and Sarah’s picture secret 
from me, while he knew all my love affairs. 

As we proceeded towards the street the house 
was located on, I said to him, — 

“We will have an opportunity of comparing 
tastes at last, for I know by the way you looked 
at the picture you like her, Robert.” 

“As the picture was made by myself, I may have 


SnS! ENGAGED^ 


83 


been admiring my own handiwork, as artists do 
sometimes. But how do you think our tastes will 
agree?’' he returned. 

Oh, the past can answer that. We have never 
yet seen a beauty on the street to whom we both 
gave the palm, and we never need fear a rivalry, 
and kill the one who would come between us, as 
the Indian brothers are said, in the story, to have 
done,’’ I replied; forgetting for the moment how 
well we were agreed on Sarah, since he thought 
her picture worth having. 

^‘Our ideas of beauty may be difterent, and yet 
our appreciation of character may be the same ; 
so while a passing f^ce may speak difterently to 
us, a full knowledge of the owner would create 
the same likes or dislikes with us,” he insisted, 
earnestly. 

“ Yes ; but as all this has reference to the young 
lady we will see this evening, how can it apply, 
since you have a more thorough knowledge of her 
than I can have for years ?” 

Very likely ; I have known her since she was 
eight years old, and am still learning something 
new; but yet it will not take you many hours to 
see that she is modest, sensible, and gentle, and 
that will give you a good start with her,” he re- 
plied. 

‘‘Well, then, tell me what are her tastes, her 
habits, and her favorite books, so that I may be 
able to interest her, and coax her to let her lamp 
shine from under the wings of her diffidence.” 


34 


WAS SITE ENGAGED? 


‘‘No, I will not; you must find all that out for 
yourself; but I will tell you something that you 
cannot learn from observation, — a little of her 
history. 

“ Her father has not been out of his house during 
four years, and during all that time she has been 
his companion, his nurse, and, I may say, his pro- 
tector. He is rather impatient, and cannot bear to 
let her out of his sight, or allow any one else to 
assist him in the slightest matter. She has thus 
been kept at his side the four best years of her life, 
and deprived of all the social enjoyments and privi- 
leges so dear to her age and sex, and yet without a 
word of complaint, or anything else except expres- 
sions of the most agreeable duty on her part. 
They have no relatives worthy of the name, and, 
consequently, she has seen as little of the outside 
world as a nun immured within the walls of a con- 
vent ; but you must not think I say this much to 
ask your charity, or deprecate your criticism.’’ 

We had by this time arrived in front of a block 
of three-story brick houses, where white doors and 
shutters, and marble steps and window-sills, were 
set as uniformly as new pins in a row, and he hur- 
riedly said we had time to say no more. 

The door he selected was opened by a servant, 
with the cheerful, self-satisfied smile of one who 
had guessed, the moment the bell rang, who was at 
the door, and with a bob which was a cross be- 
tween a bow and a courtesy, she said, — 

“ They are in the library. Master Robert.” 


. WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


35 


‘‘All riglit,’’ he said, half in reply and half to 
me, as he passed her and led the way up-stairs. 

He had ascended the stairs about half-way when 
the door was opened at the head, and a graceful 
female figure stood in the bright light, and called 
out a welcome to him in a pleasant voice. I was 
behind him ascending the stairs, and had kept step 
so well since we entered that the presence of a 
stranger was not known ; and she stepped forward 
and kissed him in a glad, sisterly manner that was 
once distinguishable from the greeting of two 
lovers. 

As I was discovered in a moment, he turned 
around and presented me to her, and the surprise 
as well as suddenness of the introduction created a 
momentary confusion of manner that was more 
becoming under the circumstances than otherwise. 
It instantly passed over, like a cloud in April, and 
then her hand was offered to me with a cordiality 
of manner and expressions of welcome which were 
as graceful of her as they were grateful to me. 

Doubtless I was indebted for much of it to the 
fact that I was witness to the tender greeting 
Robert had received; and, with womanly quick- 
ness of apprehension, she feared I would interpret 
its warmth as meaning something more than 
friendship, and received his friend nearly as well, 
to disarm me of suspicion. 

Character is the most charming feature any place, 
if it be good, and especially in a book it is the only 
feature we can recognize and admire ; yet, all being 


36 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? . 


more or less physiognomists, we naturally desire to 
know how the ontward and inward man can com- 
pare, for we have our own ideas of their consistency. 
Well, then, to satisfy this natural desire, I will tell 
how Lucy Davenport looked as she stood in the 
light from the library, though I do not expect to 
do it successfully, as, while all right-minded people 
agree in that which is good, not many do in that 
which is beautiful. 

She appeared to be about twenty years old, and 
somewhat above the medium height of a woman. 
Her complexion was fair and rather pale, but it 
deepened in color a good .deal when animated by 
conversation. Her eyes were of a clear, changing 
blue, very bright and moist and full, and only 
framed in a grave, thoughtful face, would be always 
laughing, as nearly all her gladness and mirth were 
expressed by them. Her nose, though purely Gre- 
cian, did not seem to add any beauty to her face ; 
but it had an odd expression of coyness about it 
that was very coaxing ; so striking, and yet so con- 
cealed, that it required close scrutiny to find out 
where the expression came from. 

Her mouth, chin, and throat were in harmony 
with the moderate fullness of the rest of her face ; 
but that which added most to her beauty by its 
shade, and to her simple dignity by its arrange- 
ment, was her hair, which was of a pale golden 
color, and coiled and bound around her head like a 
chaplet. 

There was so much grace, suppleness, and simpli- 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


37 


city in every movement, I could not help forgetting 
her face sometimes to watch her actions, as the old 
metaphor of man being the oak and woman the 
vine would often occur to me, and it would be de- 
lightful to imagine myself an oak with such a vine 
as Lucy Davenport twining around and clinging 
to me for support. 

My stability as a lover maybe called in question 
if I betray so much enthusiasm so soon after the 
loss of Sarah ; but it must not be imagined that I 
made all these observations and experienced these 
feelings while standing at the library door; for she 
led the way into the room as soon as I had been 
introduced, and gave me no time to fall in love 
with her, even if I had felt so disposed. 

I was presented to her father at once, but as he 
figures only as an old man in this story, I will 
merely remark of his appearance that he was ex- 
ceedingly like Robert’s picture of him. 

I drew my chair near him as soon as Robert had 
answered a few leading questions about his absence 
and return, and prepared to be pleased with what- 
ever conversation he would favor me with, seeing 
that Lucy’s eyes were asking more questions of 
Robert than her lips could get opportunity of set- 
ting forth to him. 

‘‘We owe Robert a big apple for this agreeable 
surprise, it is so seldom that we see any one besides 
each other ; and you are especially welcome, be- 
cause I know you are not, like me, always thinking 
of pain or paint, hut keep up with the spirit and 
4 


38 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


enterprise of the age ; something that I have fallen 
sadly behind in/’ he began. 

Making a brief reply, I directed my eyes to the 
paintings which I supposed he was always thinking 
about; for they hung in tiers on three sides of 
the library walls, leaving only the fourth side for 
the books and door. 

Many were landscapes and fancy sketches ; but 
some portraits from life stood out prominently, as 
much by the plainness of their features as anything 
else. 

There was one exception, however, for while it 
had all the beauty that fancy and genius could 
adorn it with, its strong resemblance to his daugh- 
ter was manifest at the first glance. 

‘‘"What do you think of that?” he asked, as his 
eyes followed mine to it. 

‘‘I have never seen a better picture; no one 
would deny Miss Davenport’s right to claim it as 
hers,” I confidently replied. 

suspected you were thinking so,” he said, 
with a hearty laugh that attracted the attention of 
the other two. 

‘‘And am I not right?” I asked. 

“Not exactly; it was painted before she was 
born,” he answered, looking with a critical eye 
from it to his daughter. 

I supposed it was her mother’s, then ; but did not 
like to say so, fearing that I would be wrong again ; 
so I merely maintained the likeness was very re- 
markable. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


39 


It is a forced resemblance, and merely consists 
of the doing up of the hair; for to please my 
father have I sacrificed my own taste and adopted 
her style,*’ said the daughter, with a modest efi[brt 
to deny her likeness to the beauty. 

‘‘That picture is no one’s in particular; it was 
merely an ideal of my own that I used to be in 
love with when I was too poor to think of a real 
living woman, for whose comfort and existence a 
butcher and a baker would be necessary,’’ he said, 
with a genial smile, as if he bad been always above 
the folly of looking upon women as angels, and 
continued : 

“We very seldom see our ideals, much less 
marry them, and despairing of meeting a being 
which existed only in my mind, I transferred my 
fancg^ to canvas, and romantically resolved to de- 
vote myself to its adoration. When I met Lucy’s 
mother, I did not think the hair, complexion, and 
eyes of this ideal so essential to my happiness, for 
that is her picture above it ; but still my old love 
was allowed a place in the family, for my wife was 
not jealous of it, though she had been told its 
romantic history. She had a Quixotic notion of 
justice, and having robbed this picture of her 
lover, she gave it her own love in return, and 
was so constantly looking at it before our girl 
was born, I believe Lucy’s strange resemblance 
was due to it. Such phenomena of nature have 
remarkable precedents, sir : I had an uncle, who 
was consul in Turkey, and his wife held the black 


40 


WAS SITE ENGAGED 


slaves of the town in such horror and disgust that 
a son was born unto her with the heavy, repul- 
sive features of the Abyssinian, only perfectly fair 
in complexion/’ 

His tongue seemed tireless, and while my eyes 
never left his face, my ^ars were with Robert and 
Miss Davenport, who had again relapsed into a 
pleasant tete-d4ete. 

The old gentleman probably noticed the vacancy 
of my expression, and addressed himself to the 
children, as he fondly called them. 

Your letters never informed us why you left 
the city before the expected time. I thought you 
were sick, and wanted Lucy to run down to your 
room and play ‘Sister of Mercy,’ ” he said, as soon 
as they had faced him. 

The “ Sister of Mercy’' did not apparently think 
that her visits ought to be spoken of before a 
stranger, for she turned to me and stammered in 
explanation, — 

“ Whenever Robert does not come in his regular 
calls, my father thinks nothing but sickness detains 
him, — just as if a young man had no medium be- 
tween sickness and visiting ! About three years ago 
he failed to put in appearance his usual evening, 
and my father becoming alarmed for him, sent me 
down to his room to look after him, where I found 
the poor young man very sick indeed. I did not 
know whether he had the blues or a fever ; but I 
gave him half a dozen different medicines to make 
sure of the right one, and brought him home and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


41 


nursed him so well that he has never since needed 
either a doctor or a nurse/’ 

Then, I must say, he is very good, as well as 
very healthy, if he has^ not been taken sick often 
since under the temptation of such tender nursing : 
your patience and goodness would be greatly 
abused by many whom I know,” I said. 

It was an unfortunate return for the effort she 
made to clear herself in my estimation, and it 
appeared to create more confusion than her father’s 
remark did at first ; because, being unaccustomed 
to society, the little compliments which are given 
and taken with ease there seemed fiattery to her, 
and she doubtless thought I was quizzing her. 

Her politeness, however, helped her to overlook 
my apparent ill manners, and she rallied, and said, — 

‘‘ Oh, he knows that as far as my skUl and 
knowledge goes medicine is medicine all the same, 
except that I have an idea the most nauseous is 
the best ; and also that, as it was the first offense, 
we were more tender of him than we would be if 
he imposed upon our benevolence too often.” 

She paused a moment, and then thinking she 
had said quite enough in explanation, she con- 
tinued to Robert, — 

‘‘I hope my father’s apprehensions were un- 
founded, and that you were not sick the week 
before you left the city.” 

Oh, no. I was unexpectedly called away in 
another direction, and did not get to my intended 
destination as soon as I expected; so you would 

4 * 


42 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


not have found me at my lodgings had you called,” 
he replied, with some difficulty, for he had been 
laughing all the time at my stupidity, in regarding 
himself and Lucy Davenport in the light of lovers, 
and also at her unsuccessful efforts to clear herself 
from the apparent indelicacy of calling at the lodg- 
ings of a young man merely because he had failed 
to call on her. 

Mr. Davenport was also made conscious of how 
much he had compromised her feelings, and hast- 
ened to make what amends he could by saying, — 

“ The girl is no longer as obedient as she was 
three years ago, Robert ; for then she did whatever 
I told her, without questioning its propriety ; but 
since she was eighteen she has sometimes brought 
‘her womanly notions of decorum in direct conflict 
with my parental authority, and as she can beat me 
at these fine points, I am always forced to yield to 
her. The poor child is deprived of her best parent, 
and an old man cannot make his own ideas the 
criterion for her.” 

There was a sadness in his last words that was 
felt by all alike, and the subject was immediately 
changed. It, however, left a depressing feeling 
behind it on his daughter’s mind, which was not 
removed by the anecdotes that followed through 
the evening. She withdrew from her conversation 
with Robert, and let the male members of the 
company sustain it with each other. 

Robert related all his adventures in the country 
for their amusement, and with so much system 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


43 


that I could see he treasured up everything he 
observed, and arranged it in his mind for the en- 
tertainment of his isolated friends, who listened to 
him with an interest and appreciation that would 
flatter a more conceited and egotistical narrator. 

He had thus made himself almost necessary to 
the happiness of his friends, who were entirely de- 
pendent upon him for their information of the 
outside world, as their knowledge had been for 
years conflned to the people who inhabited the 
bookshelves, and they were not very modern. 

The old artist was the philosopher of the party, 
of course, as well as the moralist, for he never 
failed to deduce a wholesome moral from each 
incident. When told of any deed of meanness or 
treachery, or word or act of impiety, he would 
stamp on the floor, and say Oh, oh ! as if it seemed 
incomprehensible to him how the world was still 
as bad as it used to be. With a little capital, 
safely invested in a paying stock, he had not cause, 
like Eobert, to complain of meanness. He even 
referred to his domestic as a ‘‘faithful creature, 
who had for eight years served them as if love was 
the motive-power.’’ And then, like an observing 
young man, I made an item in my mind that 
Lucy had a good temper and a yielding, easy dis- * 
position, or the servant would not be so long there, 
and so faithful in her service, even for love. 

His daughter was merely an attentive listener 
during the narrations, for, by jesting on the tempta- 
tion of getting sick, I had changed her manners 


44 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


for the evening, and I felt punished as well as 
humiliated in my own mind for it. Her natural 
frankness and innocence had received a chill, and 
instead of hearing the smooth sentences which fol- 
lowed each other in such harmonious intonations, 
as she conversed with Robert, I was compelled to 
listen to the more familiar voice of my friend, or 
to the surprising volubility of her father. 

I being a stranger to her, and she being a stran- 
ger to society, she could not help feeling that I 
was laughing in my sleeve at her unusual fresh- 
ness, as those who have not mingled much with 
the world are apt to be too sensitive, and imagine 
that anything which distinguishes them from the 
multitude is derogatory rather than otherwise to 
their reputation. 


CHAPTER IV. 


As we took our leave of them, Mr. Davenport 
cordially invited me to call again with Robert, and 
as often as I pleased without waiting for him. 

I looked towards his daughter to see whether 
her face seconded the invitation, but she was busily 
engaged in getting a book for Robert, and I was 
ignorant of her feelings as the lady of the house. 

It was much earlier than Robert and I usually 
separated, and we entered his lodgings to discuss 
any subject that might present itself to us for the 
next hour. 

Our boots were pulled off, and we went out on 
our lofty observatory to catch sublimity from the 
black clouds which were chasing each other in the 
heavens. 

But before we were long there the rain in large 
drops began to patter on the roof, and we reluc- 
tantly took refuge in the rooms below. 

There was a large, old-fashioned fireplace in the 
studio, and as it was chilly enough to make a fire 
very cheerful company, he kindled one of hickory 
in it, and in a few moments it pleasantly blazed up. 

With our feet placed against the andirons, as if 
we expected them to become conductors of the 

( 45 ) 


46 


WAS SEE ENGAGED^ 


genial heat, we waited for the lire to impart its 
glow to our minds. 

Neither spoke for some time, and when a thought 
was interchanged it was only on the comparative 
merits of a wood and coal hre; but as both gave the 
preference to wood there was no room for any 
argument, and we again relapsed into silence. 
Both were no doubt thinking of the people we had 
just left, and Robert waited for me to say some- 
thing about them. 

I thought the old gentleman, though polite and 
warm-hearted, was somewhat egotistical, while I 
knew I had given oftense to his daughter; so I did 
not like to say much about either, as there was a 
compact between us to state our real feelings on 
any question, without fear of giving offense to each 
other. 

My first impressions of Lucy Davenport, as the 
reader knows, were very favorable; but when I saw 
she took exceptions to the very natural speech I 
made I became defiant, and set her down for a 
prude, who had not grace enough to receive a com- 
pliment pleasantly, though her good sense had told 
her it was light and meaningless. Then again I 
thought she and Robert were betrothed, and was 
somewhat out of humor because he had never said 
anything to me about it; so I was inclined to re- 
sent it by utter indiff*erence. 

We finally looked at each other, and laughed, 
saying, in echo to each other’s words, Why don’t 
you say something ?” 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


47 


I have nothing to say, except to repeat that I 
like the wood fire very much, and, if you wish it, 
I will show you some verses in its praise,’' he re- 
plied. 

He found them in a few moments, and placed 
his fancies in my hand, as follows : 

LOG-FIKE MUSINGS. 

Come, sit by the log-fire if grieving 
Eor wealth the aflections desire ; 

Come, care and cold earthliness leaving, 

And seek a new world in fire. 

Oh, there for the needy is treasure, 

Where truth and devotion untold, 

And friendship and love, without measure, 

Are won without silver or gold I 

When lured by the visions that dance in 
That magical mirror, the blaze, 

A fairy will lead 5mu a trance in. 

Through many a revel and maze. 

Hopes vanished you’ll see there refining, 

More bright and assured than before. 

And if sensitive, sad, or repining. 

You are lonely and cheerless no more I 

“ A thought builds a castle of pearl, 

Secure from earth’s covetous e^^es. 

And gives it a bright, loving girl, — 

Ideal of love’s vision and sighs. 

Call her Lucy, or Ellen, or Mary ; 

Ask for eyes of black, hazel, or blue ; 

Wish her sober, or pensive, or airy. 

And she comes to your mood ever true. 

“ The prosy may censure such musing, 

Say time is too vainly employed, 


48 


WAS SriE ENOAOED? 


And tell you such treasures in using, 

Wear longer when by earth alloyed. 

But, what? shall we plod on in sorrow 
Because a world melts them to naught ? 
You may think of them still on each morrow. 
And happiness lives but in thought.’’ 


It is very good to think that becoming happy 
is only an action of the mind, a mere metaphysical 
condition, independent of the wants of the poor 
body ; but the real estate dealers and Lotharios 
will never say with envy, that ‘You have a fine 
house, and splendid wife, by Jove !’ if you keep 
them over in Spain ; though I dare say it cost but 
little to maintain them in undecaying freshness 
there, I remarked, as I handed the lines back to 
him. 

“ Yes, very little, and that is why I can afford to 
have them : a cord of hickory, sawed and piled up 
outside the door, at six dollars, will maintain a wife 
and establishment in any splendor or style I fancy 
for a month, or will take me up the Rhine or down 
the Amazon, or to Venice, Milan, or Munich; and 
I do not see why I ought not to go that way, rather 
than be fretting because I cannot go at all. To 
be sure, I do not sit here to muse while I have 
an order for a picture ; but jt is better to have 
hopes to lure on, even though they are never real- 
ized, than have no hopes at all,y he replied. 

“Yes; but is it not better still to have hopes 
which we can reasonably expect to see realized?’* 
I asked. 


WAS SEE ENGAGED^ 


49 


‘^All hopes are part expectation, expectation and 
desire; and when we desire a thing, we might just 
as well unreasonably expect it as not, as it will 
come just as soon, if it comes at all; and why not, 
then, hope for all things which we desire? We 
cannot measure the power of the Providence that 
gives us as much as is for our good, and we do not 
know what things are for our good, so I say let us 
hope for all things.’’ 

We think alike, I am sure, Robert; but you 
have not expressed yourself as clearly as you might. 
You do not mean to say that I could hope to be 
President, and at the same time live on without 
making any effort to attain that distinction ; while, 
at the same time, you would not advise me to 
waste my time and energy in seeking what I could 
not reasonably expect to obtain. But to leave this 
abstruse reasoning and come to the practical facts : 
you desire to have a wife, and a house to put her 
in, and because you do not wish to lodge her up 
here, you get one like Mackay describes in his 
Salamandrine, and build castles in the air for her. 
I had no idea you w^ere so much in the real estate 
and matrimonial line ; but since you have let me 
in part into your secret, please tell me what has 
tempted you to throw open the gates of your para- 
dise to me. Is it anything your fair vis-d-vis has 
said to you this evening?” 

“Well, yes, in some measure. She told me they 
will in a day or two have an additional member in 
5 


50 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


their family, and from what I know of that mem- 
ber elect I can predict trouble/^ 

Well, you surprise me, old fellow! Is it a son- 
in-law for the old gentleman or a stepmother for 
the daughter?’^ I cried, with unfeigned concern; 
for I thought it a pity that such a tender bond 
as existed between them should be weakened by a 
stranger. 

“Oh, no, not as bad for either as that; it is a 
daughter to Mr. Davenport and a sister to Lucy, 
but also a plague to all easy-going people. They, 
and even I, will be turned upside down by her; 
and so will you, if you like the family well enough 
to become a regular visitor there,'^ he said. 

“ I do, most certainly. But what must I prepare 
to sufier from the new member? Anything more 
than I suftered from the daughter this evening?’’ 
I returned, a sudden interest being created by the 
promise of one more friend. 

“Everything that a young lady most pleasing 
and most provoking, most frank and finesse, most 
docile and intractable can inflict upon you. She 
is a mass of contradictions, and will coax and cut, 
pet and snub, and tease and throw you in spite 
of all you can do. She is Lucy’s cousin, and used 
to live with them six years ago. She was claimed 
by a nearer relative, but now is coming back to 
them free, and an heiress.” 

“ Well, I am sure gratitude to those who were 
her friends when she was not so independent is a 
good trait,’’ I said. 


WAS SUB ENGAGED? 


51 


“ Yes, that is what makes her so dangerous ; she 
has so many good qualities, as well as some which 
are not so lovable. There is nothing negative in 
her ; for her traits are all positive, demonstrative, 
and aggressive. Though there was many a happy 
day while she was at Mr. Davenport’s, there was 
never a quiet one; and I must say she generally 
had things her own way there, and made the 
water hot for every one, and I got my share of it, 
for she was a continual torment to me.” 

“ Ah ! I see, she played mischief with your heart, 
old fellow, and you fear she will do it again. ‘A 
burned child,’ etc., saith the old proverb; and now, 
though you dream of fine houses up in the air, you 
are too proud to ask an heiress when she comes 
within your orbit. Do I judge correctly, my dear 
sir ?” 

‘‘Very nearly so, Ned. You know me well 
enough to read my thoughts afar oft'. A person to 
love her must lay his reason aside, and blindly 
yoke himself with a woman who can and will ex- 
ercise the power of making him happy or misera- 
ble with equal ease aiid energy,” he said. 

“ But, my dear sir, are you not meeting trouble 
half way, and more, too ? She has not yet asked you 
to marry her, and even you do not know whether 
she is at liberty to do so, were she so disposed : an 
heiress is not often compelled to resort to such ex- 
treme measures to get a husband.” 

“ She is at liberty, at least, for I have read her 
letters the last six years, and she is too frank to 


52 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 9 


keep anything like an engagement a secret; but 
the danger that I fear is that I may be so incautious 
as to ask her, I believe if the girl would only 
lay her pranks aside she would make a splendid 
wife ; but too often men of my profession seek to 
W'ed a fortune only that they may be able to follow 
their art mistress with more ease and independ- 
ence : I not only wish to avoid this, but also the 
very appearance of it,’' he replied. 

Well, leave all those things in the hands of the 
future, and if you should fall in love, come to me 
for advice. You have given me good counsel when 
I was in trouble, and now, that I am out of it, I 
will be as faithful to you ; in fact, I will retail your 
own words back to you, so that you cannot refuse 
them, because they are yours.” 

I railed at love, because there is a subtle 
philosophy in calling high grapes sour ; but, as you 
say, let us leave all these things to the future," he 
said, giving the fire a furious poking, as if to 
cover up again all the castles he had that night 
for the first time exposed to me. 

I looked into it, and thought that Lucy was free 
for me, if I could find a heart to be in love again ; 
and she was one who would not lead it such a 
thorny road as Sarah had done. 

Then the truth flashed on my mind, and I men- 
tally cried, — 

^‘Ah, Bob, my dear fellow! I am more far-sighted 
than you think I am 1 All this talk is for effect. 
You are too sensible to be afraid of meeting a 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


53 


young lady friend, however great her attractions 
are, and you merely tell me in this roundabout 
way that you are not engaged to Lucy, and if I 
like her there is no one ahead of me.’^ 

The young lady who was the subject of so much 
conversation came, and the next time we went to 
Mr. Davenport’s we had an opportunity of judging 
how much danger was ahead of us. 

Going up-stairs, we found Mr. Davenport alone 
in the library, where he always sat or reclined 
when not confined to his bed. 

After he had greeted us, and motioned me to a 
seat near him, he said to Robert, — 

Rosy Heywood is here, and is down-stairs with 
Lucy, looking over her music.” 

Oh, is she ? I must run down and see what she 
has turned into, the little imp !” he said, and was 
half-way down before his sentence was concluded. 

I was entertained with a long discourse on Bona- 
parte’s retreat from Moscow; for it had been the 
subject of his reading that day, and his reflections 
would have been instructive at any other time; 
but the hilarious greetings below, in which Bob 
and his mustache,” and Rosy and her water- 
fall,” seemed to rise above all the other elements 
of their admiration for each other, drew my mind 
away, and his round periods fell on the ears of a 
dull, inattentive listener. 

He did not detect the want of intelligence in my 
eyes this time; but continued, while my heart was 
down-stairs, where the sounds grew fainter and 
5 * 


54 


WAS SUE ENGAGED? 


fainter, until they finally died away in music. As 
he was sublimely saying Kings trembled for 
their crowns and nations for their existence, but 
God compressed the mercury a few degrees below 
zero and annihilated the terrible army by the 
breath of his nostrils,’’ Lucy entered, and, having 
greeted me, said that Robert and her cousin were 
finishing a duet down-stairs, and would be up in a 
moment. 

Soon afterwards there was a rustling of silks, and 
some half-smothered laughing on the stairs, and 
after a pause outside to compose themselves, Rob- 
ert threw open the door, and a well-dressed young 
lady swept into the room. 

Maybe I would have said sailed into it, if I had 
been disposed to be florid; for the stately curve 
she made in order to reach her end of the center- 
table was certainly like that of a large river steamer 
coming into her wharf. She seemed wholly un- 
conscious of a stranger’s presence in the room, 
until her majestic, though graceful, sweep brought 
her face to face with me, as she came to a right- 
about at the other end of the library. 

As she caught the startling idea that there was 
a gentleman with whom she was not acquainted in 
the room with her, Lucy came to the rescue and 
introduced us. When she had recovered from the 
becoming surprise she was careful to manifest, she 
dipped quite low, and then we were acquainted. 

Unfortunately for me I, had forgotten to seem 
overcome by her grand manner of entering the 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


55 


room, and without looking deeply impressed 
(though I was by her aftectation), I felt as easy 
and indifferent as one who had seen women before 
would naturally have felt. I addressed a few words 
to her as I would to Lucy ; but they were received 
with such a formal, dignified, and chilling air as 
froze the kindly smile on my face, and the temper- 
ature of my feelings suddenly fell as low as the 
mercury had been a few moments before, when 
Mr. Davenport used it to freeze Napoleon’s ‘‘Army 
of Invasion.” 

The face and tone of the newcomer were 
strongly impregnated with the air of a Western 
village, and the vain self-conceit of a belle showed 
itself in her stiff* manners. 

She was no sooner seated than she drew forth a 
newspaper clipping from her pocket, and said, — 

“ Lucy, you are a French scholar, and can appre- 
ciate this prime joke !” 

This piece of pedantry, which, after she had 
assumed the airs of a belle and heiress, now 
summed up her claims on our regard by saying 
that she knew French, sorely tried my gravity, but 
it stood the test. 

The “ prime joke in French” was read aloud by 
request of Robert, and it consisted in the word arts 
being pronounced anes by an American, in Paris, 
who wished to say that Nebuchadnezzar had eaten 
grass for seven yearSy but unluckily made his 
hearers understand that he had “ eaten grass for 
seven asses.' ^ 


56 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


As it raised a general laugh among us, Robert 
triumphantly exclaimed, — 

There! I thought I would let Miss Rosy see 
we all are French scholars here. She must not 
think that learning and the appreciation of jokes 
are confined exclusively to her own sex.'* 

This opened a battle between Rosamond and 
Robert at once, who pitched into each other with 
praiseworthy zeal for their respective sexes. 

Both showed keen wit, and excellent skill at re- 
partee, with an unlimited command of sarcasm ; and 
while Lucy and I followed them as their squires, 
occasionally putting in a sly blow, Mr. Davenport 
laughed aloud at the unusual excitement. 

Peace was at length restored; and apparently 
satisfied that she had lost no -honor in the conflict, 
she addressed several remarks to the company at 
large, and took the lead in the conversation, show- 
ing herself advantageously all the time, as if ac- 
customed to admiration. Though her words were 
addressed to no one in particular, her looks were 
always turned to me, when any one made answer, 
as if to read my thoughts or approval, and I would 
have felt flattered by her apparent desire to make 
an impression, only I knew that ladies of her co- 
quettish disposition tried to attract more for the 
novelty than for any special value they set on a 
stranger's good opinion. 

I had a sentiment, which was perhaps the cause 
of my stubborn determination not to be concili- 
ated, and that was to never let myself be carried 


TFAS SHE ENGAGED? 


57 


away by admiration for a stranger while there was 
an older acquaintance present to feel slighted by 
my preference. I thought the guest clearly be- 
trayed a desire to outshine her hostess ; but late in 
the evening, seeing that Lucy did not share my feel- 
ings, but rather admired her, without envy or sus- 
picion, I gradually softened, and towards the end 
of the visit we agreed, dissented, and conversed 
with the greatest animation. 

I regarded Robert as her admirer elect, however, 
and whenever an opportunity offered I turned to the 
gentle, unassuming Lucy, who courted no admira- 
tion, was reticent when she could have won it, and 
modestly received it when thrust upon her. 

Mr. Davenport, contrary to the opinion I had 
formed of him, seemed content to listen to others; 
and while he evidently enjoyed our spirited, if not 
noisy, talk, he seldom joined us in it. 

I could see that he was classing our several 
minds, and maybe was pairing us off, if he had any 
of his old romance left. lie seemed highly amused 
whenever Robert and Rosamond clashed, for clash 
they would all the time, as neither expressed an 
opinion that was not disputed by the other, and 
being compelled to support every assertion by argu- 
ment, they amused us all while they sharpened each 
other’s wits. 

There was an entertaining retrospect of their 
youth exploits, and quarrels, and adventures, which 
Miss Ileywood recounted to us in the most graph- 
ical language and manner. 


58 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


The day she and Eobert were beside a brook, 
breaking the calm waters into sunny ripples with 
their birchen switches, and Robert accidentally wet 
her with a few drops of spray, she repaid it with 
interest, and he retaliated, until, becoming so wet 
and heedless of the consequences, they pulled each 
other into the stream, and came out dripping like 
water-fowl. The advantage was hers, as she could 
change her clothes when the sport was over, while 
Eobert, being at school in the city, and out to spend 
Saturday and Sunday, had only one suit, and was 
compelled to go to bed until it W-as dried. 

The day they were fishing together, and she 
wandered up the stream and climbed up into an 
old overhanging willow, throwing her hat on the 
water and screaming to see whether Robert would 
dive for her, like the heroes of romance ; but, dis- 
covering the ruse, and having two suits of clothes 
this time, he shook her oft* into the stream, and 
swam about in it with her to show his chivalry and 
skill. 

The day she sat under a cherry-tree, while he 
climbed it to fill her apron with cherries, and get- 
ting out on a dry branch fell head-foremost himself 
into her lap, and nearly killed both. These rude 
sports and romantic ramblings by the classic Bran- 
dywine, when she was a strong, romping girl, be- 
tween thirteen and fourteen years old, kept us 
laughing, interested, and unconscious of the fieet- 
ing hours till it was midnight ; and when at length 
we discovered how late it was, I boldly declared to 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


59 


her that I had never before heard of the flight of 
time with so much surprise and regret. 

She had, as Robert said she would, upset the 
quiet order of things at Mr. Davenport's ; for they 
usually retired at ten o’clock, and several had head- 
aches next day. But I would blame my head 
rather than her ; she was so untiring and interest- 
ing in talking, and I could listen with pleasure to 
her the whole twenty-four hours. 

All my prejudices and thoughts of getting even 
with her had vanished before I left the house, and 
her words, her frankness, and vivacity had con- 
quered. Her mind seemed healthy, vigorous, and 
buoyant like her body, and the latter was such 
that she need envy none of her sisterhood in form, 
health, and charms. 

Her large, round, dark-blue eyes, which at first 
sight impressed me as indicating a spirit that would 
not be controlled by reason or decorum, softened 
from their wildness to constancy while she was 
relating her riding, fishing, and rambling adven- 
tures, and I read in them then an undisguised, 
courageous soul, such as would seek and sufter for 
truth with unflinching devotion. 

When she looked at Robert sometimes, there was 
a fullness of feeling, an intensity of expression, in 
them that awakened in my breast even feelings of 
envy, and I hoped it would be my fortune, some 
day, to meet one whose eyes could look at me with 
such an overflowing wealth of candor and affec- 
tion. 


60 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


As we walked home, I communicated the sense 
of the last sentence to Eobert, and found not only 
that he was much less impressed than I was, hut 
also that he laughed heartily at me. 

When I told him he ought to feel flattered by 
being remembered so long and so well, and, above 
all, by the glances of whole-souled interest she re- 
garded him with all the time, he exclaimed, with 
irreverent skepticism, — 

“ Bah ! that was all put on for the occasion ; just 
for eftect and nothing else. I know her natural tone 
well, and could see, though she looked at me, she 
was only speaking to you through me, as she saw 
that her first effort had not succeeded. 

“ Though it is not agreeable to be made a cat’s- 
paw for any one, yet I could feel flattered for you, 
my friend; but I suspect she would just as will- 
ingly use you for a mouth-piece to-morrow to call 
some one else’s attention to herself. 

As for her memory, I wish it had not been so 
good, for she doubtless remembers much more than 
she has told, and will call me to account for it yet, 
or visit her resentment on me in some way, for she 
never forgets or forgives. Ten years from now she 
can recall every word and look exchanged in there 
to-night, and though she is a generous, whole- 
souled girl, she has her own ideas about being even 
with every one in some way.’^ 

We parted for the night; but until near day- 
break my brain, half intoxicated by the excite- 
ment of the evening, could not compose itself to 


61 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 

rest. She had, by her witty, independent, and 
sometimes extravagant language, as well as by her 
natural lively gestures, raised my fancy to such an 
elevation that it required hours to get it back to 
the level of repose. 

After I arose in the morning and took a good 
sponge-bath, my head began to get cool again and 
my ideas to clear; and then I derived more plea- 
sure from thinking of the few words Lucy had said 
to me than from all the glowing speeches and 
animated pictures with which Miss Heywood 
charmed me. 

Inconstant man ! 


CHAPTER V. 


As Rosamond Heywood had become one of the 
family at Mr. Davenport’s, and had promised at our 
first meetmg to become a very interesting acquaint- 
ance, I made some inquiries respecting her pre- 
vious history the next evening I spent at Robert’s 
studio. 

She was deprived of her last surviving parent, 
he told me, by the death of her mother, who was 
sister to Mrs. Davenport, and had died when Rosa- 
mond was ten years old. The orphan was then 
taken into Mrs. Davenport’s family, and while she 
shared their city home, they all repaired during 
the hot summer months to the large farm, which 
she had inherited from her mother, by the Brandy- 
wine. By some technical obscurity in the wording 
of an old will, the farm really belonged to Mrs. 
Davenport; but neither the artist nor his wife ever 
thought of taking advantage of these obscurities, 
which are at once the reproach of our intellects, 
and the delight of our lawyers and romancers. 

No sooner had Mrs. Davenport died than a 
brother, with less generous feeling, challenged 
the right of Rosamond to the farm ; and though 
Mr. Davenport at great expense defended her 
claim, the selfish uncle succeeded in dispossessing 
( 62 ) 


SHE ENGAGED? 


63 


her of it, as it was decided by the court that it be- 
longed in rotation to each sister and brother, and to 
the heirs of the last of the occupants. 

This uncle had a brother in a distant State, who 
had no children ; and ashamed of his brother’s 
churlishness, he came to claim Rosamond for adop- 
tion, and indemnify Mr. Davenport for his losses in 
the contest. 

The latter offer was refused, but Rosamond was 
given up ; and now both her uncles having died, 
and he who had adopted her being the last owner 
of the farm, she legally inherited it this time, as 
well as some wealth which her uncle had divided 
between her and his childless widow. 

The widow returned to her own rela-tives in Ten- 
nessee, and Rosamond gratefully came back to the 
guardianship she had enjoyed when she was less 
an object of speculation. 

Six years’ absence, which, as they had discovered 
at meeting, had brought Robert a mustache” 
and Rosamond a ‘‘waterfall,” had also developed 
other qualities in her, which now promised to be- 
come a pleasing contrast with Lucy’s unobtrusive 
beauty of person and mind, without making either 
less interesting. 

This account of her interested me a good deal 
in Miss Heywood, and, as I did not feel sufficiently 
well acquainted with the family to visit there on my 
own responsibility, I waited impatiently for Robert’s 
second semi-weekly visit, not wishing to go with 
him every time he went there. Maybe my word 


64 


WAS SHE ENG AGED 7 


will be doubted when I affirm that her frank, un- 
studied way of speaking, and her good sense in 
returning to the artist’s quiet home, heiress though 
she had become, recommended her far more to my 
esteem than the mere fact (which I may have 
already laid too much stress on) of her being an 
heiress, and being a handsome one into the bargain. 

The next time I called, Kosamond was apparently 
up-stairs dressing, instead of down at the music, 
and, good friends though we had parted last, all 
my anticipations of a pleasant greeting were dis- 
appointed the moment she entered the room. 

Even Robert was not cordially greeted, I thought, 
as she came into the room with a dignified air ; 
and she seemed so wholly unconscious of having 
seen me before, that Lucy was deceived, and intro- 
duced me again, supposing that she had really 
forgotten me. 

The low bow, the same majestic curve in taking 
a seat, the introduction of her hand into her 
pocket, and, not finding anything there, into her 
work-basket, for something to start the conversa- 
tion on, were all repeated; and though she gradu- 
ally became lively and sociable with me, she did 
not, during the entire evening, by a word or look, 
indicate any knowledge of a previous introduction 
or conversation. As my admiration of Lucy re- 
ceived a fresh stimulus from her friendly manner 
of receiving me every time I went there, so my detes- 
tation of Rosamond’s unnatural stiffiiess increased 
by a repetition of it every time we met. The girls 


TFL45 SHE ENGAGED^ 


65 


were so unlike each other it would seem almost 
impossible for them to become rivals, and yet each 
one alternately reigned uppermost in my thoughts. 
After being an hour or more in her company, 
my dislike for Rosamond would melt away be- 
fore the animated and sunny expression of her 
face as she warmed in conversation ; and while I 
had met her several evenings before she laid aside 
the coldness and stateliness of her receptions, she 
made amends for them always ere we parted, and 
her voice thrilled my dreaming ears long after 
the music of the evening had been hushed. 

But then again, after my dreams were over, 
there was no pleasure left to contemplate, for the 
unnatural stiffness of her manner was remembered 
against her with increasing dislike, and I was ever 
arguing from it to her prejudice. 

I have, however, strayed far ahead of time in 
this digression, for it was only at the fourth visit I 
had made to the house that something happened 
which calls an old acquaintance back to the stage. 

It was customary for the girls to go down to the 
parlor and sing after tea, leaving the doors open, so 
that Mr. Davenport could hear the music in the 
library, where tea was always served. 

One night we arrived before this evening an- 
them was over, and turned into the parlor to enjoy 
Rosamond’s rich, cultivated voice (for she was the 
singer); but besides the two we expected to find, 
there also stood Sarah Carroll, singing with them. 

While Robert, who I thought was a total stranger 
6 * 


66 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


to her, greeted her as an old friend, I turned 
to the other two ladies, hoping thereby to gain 
time to collect my wits, which were not a little 
scattered by the sudden and unwished-for collision. 
The time was sufficient for the task, and when I 
was presented by Lucy I was as calm as herself; 
thus we met again to begin a new acquaintance, 
without a prejudice being suspected by or a sign 
of having met before visible to the others. 

Eobert, who had so often listened to my praises 
of her without ever betraying an acquaintance, 
turned to her again and expressed his pleasure at 
seeing her, and she replied to him that she had 
only that day heard of Kosy’s arrival from the 
West, and could not delay calling on her. 

Of course this required an expression of thank- 
fulness from Rosamond, and while they were, 
probably for the fourth time, exchanging expres- 
sions of mutual good will, Robert and I exchanged 
looks of pathetic dismay over their shoulders. 

It could easily be seen that Rosamond was not 
over-sincere in her professions of regard, for she 
turned to us in a moment, and left Lucy to listen 
to what more Sarah would say ; though Lucy could 
not feel flattered by the speech that called up these 
‘‘twice-told tales’* of aftection. 

Robert, with Lucy in every thought and word, 
as much as he combated Rosamond’s sayings and 
doings, asked Sarah if it were possible that she did 
suspect Lucy and himself would be glad to hear 
that she cared something for them too. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


67 


It was asked in a merry tone of feigned re- 
proach, which enabled Sarah to make reply to the 
question in a laughing way. 

Truth compels me to say that I did not know 
whether you were dead or alive, though whenever 
I thought of you I sincerely hoped you were.^^ 

‘‘Either dead or alive? Well, I should think 
you might feel certain I was, as the intermediate 
state has not been discovered yet; and as I was 
never good enough to be translated, I must live 
and die like any other sinner, my fair cousin,’^ he 
replied. 

“ I see yon are as quick as ever, and I pity Lucy 
for having near her one so ready to contort and 
retort as you are,’' Sarah said. 

“ Oh, Lucy bears it very well, I thank you ; in 
fact, she has so much patience with me I should 
not have been surprised if you had said you ex- 
pected to learn that she had been translated.” 

“ Ho ; I took pains to inquire how Lucy was, 
and knew that she was well ; and I know her still 
to be too generous to think I meant to slight her 
because I gave her guest the first place in the ex- 
planation your bantering has called from me.” 

“That clearly proves you have not forgotten 
me, Sarah ; and I think you left me for the last 
only to give me the best part of the pie. Robert 
was too impatient, and pulled out a plum that has 
set his teeth on edge,” Lucy replied, with a smile 
of satisfaction. 

“ I wish Luce would exchange some of her gen- 


68 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


erosity for some of my selfishness, as we both 
would then be better adapted to the planet we 
inhabit/’ said Rosamond, joining them. 

‘‘ Spare me from further flattery, or I shall think 
you have conspired to mock me,” cried Lucy. 

“ Well, I merely wanted to say that I can never 
forget my own interest, or good, or dues so far as 
to give precedence to those of the public, or to 
take pleasure in anything that beneflts others but 
leaves me in the cold,” returned Rosamond. 

“ Bear that in mind, Ned, and whenever you give 
compliments to the sex in general, remember Rosa- 
mond must have one for her individual use, or else 
it does not reach her at all,” said Robert to me, 
who had been silent all this time. 

As for you, you provoking cynic, I know how 
left-handed your compliments are, and fear more 
than I covet them ; and I hope Mr. Pearson will be 
guided by his own strong sense of what is due to 
us, each and all, rather than by your advice. If, 
however, I may be permitted to offer a suggestion 
where I am principally concerned,” she added, 
with amusing coquettishness, “ allow me to say, 
that three compliments for me, two for Miss Car- 
roll, and one for Lucy is about the proportion oui 
vanity requires.” 

I promised to remember her advice, but hoped 
that, as I was very sincere in my speeches, my com- 
pliments would not be received as the flattery of 
a courtier. 

“Oh, no, sir ! if you are so very sincere^ we shall 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


69 


hear from you so seldom you may be sure the 
rarity of your compliments, if nothing else, will 
insure them our regard/^ 

‘‘ Then, if they should be rare, attribute it to the 
fact that our deepest feelings are seldom expressed ; 
partly for the want of suitable words to convey 
them, and partly because we fear they will not be 
heard with the veneration which, in our own esti- 
mation, they deserve,’’ I replied to her. 

‘‘That certainly is a handsome speech to begin 
with ; and I doubt not that you will be able to in- 
vent some means by which those ineffable senti- 
ments can be conducted to our ears, if we only give 
you the encouragement you deserve,” she replied, 
asking Sarah, at the same time, “ if she had ever 
seen such a ready man?” 

Of course Sarah replied that she had not, and at 
that moment our eyes as they met could not 
conceal a look of intelligence which nearly be- 
trayed us. 

I felt some confusion at being found in such 
fair society, and in such good spirits, so soon 
after the time when my compliments were for her 
alone. 

Only about two months had passed by, and now 
I was “a ready man” again, to compliment a 
stranger as I had her before. 

These feelings were deepened by the sedate, if not 
pensive, expression which had taken the place of the 
gayety and buoyancy of her recent manners; and, 
though I had been released from our engagement by 


70 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


her own wish and action, yet I felt now somewhat 
chagrined at the thought that my character for 
stability was compromised by the position she had 
found me in. There was a sudden but earnest de- 
sire to assert my right to her respect, if not to de- 
serve her friendship, though I had no wish to recall 
anything that was now among the past. 

She had wasted the best years of her life in flirt- 
ing, trifling, and quarreling, and when a woman, 
who is thoughtful and intelligent enough to know 
that youth and beauty are tolerated in power 
scarcely longer than a presidential term, sees her 
jealous, fickle, and exacting subjects waiting to 
depose her, the consciousness that her freshness is 
fast fading, and her power approaching its end, 
must prey like a vulture upon the vitals of her 
peace and hasten the decay she fears. 

Though one of those years had been wasted 
upon me, and I was a party to many a foolish quar- 
rel, yet I could not accuse myself with being an ac- 
cessory to the flirting and trifling which led to 
them, or that I was equally guilty of playing with 
that dangerous bird of prey, — time. 

I could forgive her, because she had violated her 
own good sense as much as she had my feelings ; 
and I pitied her, because by her sex the loss of 
time was the more deplorable to her. 

These were the self-complacent thoughts which 
passed through my mind while liobert and Rosa- 
mond were enjoying their customary tilt with each 
other, and I was left to my own reflections; for 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 7 


71 




Lucy had excused herself, and taken Sarah up- 
stairs with her, immediately after our general con- 
versation. 

I was greatly surprised and annoyed at Robertas 
manifest duplicity. He had called Sarah cousin, 
and had yet heard from me all our affairs ; and for 
the confidence I had reposed in him, had not only 
kept me in ignorance of his acquaintance with 
her, but had also often said things calculated to 
turn my mind against her. 

I was framing a severe speech by which to make 
my displeasure fully known to him as soon as we 
left the house, when Lucy returned and said that 
her father wished to see us all up in the library at 
once, in order to count how many friends he now 
had. 

As Robert and Rosamond preceded us up-stairs, 
I said to Lucy, — 

If you keep on multiplying your friends you 
will have a house full in a week or two, and, lest we 
should interfere with your privacy too much, you 
will be compelled to appoint a reception-day each 
week for them.’^ 

‘‘ Oh, there is no danger to fear from that, for 
you are really the only addition we have, as Miss 
Carroll is my cousin, and, like Rosy, is an old 
friend come back to us,'’ she replied. 

‘‘Is she Miss Ileywood’s cousin, too?’^ 

“Yes, we three are first cousins ; all Carrolls in 
fact, descended, and maybe I should say degen- 
erated, from the Revolutionary Carroll. Cousin 


72 


WAS SITE ENGAGED? 


Sarah is more sedate than Rosy, but I am sure you 
will like her none the less for that ; in fact, I believe 
you admire dignified people, do you not ?” 

“Yes, when the dignity is natural; and, if I 
may say so without egotism, I am philosopher 
enough to like whatever is natural in the human 
character, as well as in any other part of nature. 
It is in the pleasing variety of character society 
has its charms, and it would kill society in a short 
time if all the people which compose it were dig- 
nified, or, at least, if they had that reserve and 
self-esteem which pass for dignity. But the most 
killing thing of all would be to see each person, 
thinking the character and manners of some other 
person more becoming, lay aside a habit which 
was natural and easy to himself and assume a 
borrowed one.” 

My philosophy, such as it was, set her thinking, 
and she said in a half-audible reverie, — 

“What a serious blunder I made when I told 
Rosy you liked dignified people !” 

“ Eh ! Did you tell Miss Hey wood that ? And 
mistake me so much ?” I asked, catching her words 
up quickly. 

“ Yes, I thought so,” she said, starting and 
blushing, and then added, with a candor and con- 
fidence which proved she was already forming a 
more favorable opinion of me, — 

“I thought you were very severe and critical, 
and feared you might judge her harshly at first. 
Robert does not mind her pungent pleasantries. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


73 


because he has known her so long ; but she could 
not hope to be understood as well by a stranger.” 

Poor Rosamond ! her curves, and dips, and stately 
airs all put on for me! I felt amused and flattered 
as we entered the room, and was glad to know that 
her natural spirit and vivacity would not be re- 
strained longer than an hour at a time, in spite of 
all she could do to make herself dignified. 

After a few general remarks, the conversation 
assumed the character of tete-d-tUes. I kept near 
Lucy, Sarah sat down by Mr. Davenport, while 
Rosamond and Robert, who seemed to enjoy a con- 
tinual tilting of wits, engaged each other in a corner. 

Lucy, being innocent-minded, was very easily 
‘‘pumped;” and since Robert was so thoroughly 
conversant with my love affairs, and the family 
.acquainted with Sarah, as well as having heard 
of me through Robert, I felt anxious to learn 
whether he had not mentioned our relations to 
them before the engagement had been broken oflT. 

“Miss Carroll’s dignity is as natural to her as 
Miss Heywood’s sprightliness is to her also, and 
between them you will enjoy a pleasant temper- 
ature of social atmosphere,” I said, with a view to 
the aforesaid “ pumping” process. 

“ Oh, yes, my father used to admire Miss Car- 
roll very much, and so used Robert ; and though 
we have not seen her for many years before to-day, 
I presume she is as much, if not more, admired 
than ever in the circle of her acquaintance. We 
did not hear a word of her since we saw her last; 


74 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


but she has completely won father’s esteem and 
affection by coming here to congratulate Rosy 
upon her accession to fortune, under circumstances 
which are very delicate and peculiar.’’ 

Her innocent, silvery voice kept on, winning its 
way to my heart by its sweetness, above all by the 
implicit confidence I had in the truthfulness of 
every word she spoke. I was soon satisfied that 
if Robert had kept me in the dark he had also 
kept his own counsel, when the temptation to tell 
them of Sarah’s engagement with me was great. 
He was forgiven on the spot for his discreetness, 
and in fact I admired him all the more for being 
able to listen so often to my praises of Sarah’s 
beauty and accomplishments, without betraying by 
a look his amusement at hearing me describe her 
to him; and also for his tact in accounting for the 
picture I found in his possession without telling 
me a falsehood. The last hour had added much 
to my already great respect for his qualities, and 
he was fast becoming a hero in my estimation. 

I was aroused from my refiections by a remark 
Lucy made which was so far-fetched that I knew she 
had become embarrassed by my silence ; for, being 
diflident, she lost confidence in herself the moment 
her conversation had ceased to elicit remarks. 

‘‘You have also a good opportunity to improve 
the time in Miss Carroll’s way; for you have a 
very considerable and well-selected library here,” 
I observed, in reply to what she had said. 

“I am glad you and Robert think so, for Rosy 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


75 


has made me ashamed of them ; she says they are 
a very dry and dull collection, with the exception 
of a few historical novels. One of them I read to 
father lately, and it has left a sentiment on my 
mind ever since ; and, though the words were 
uttered by a wild, lawless character, they have 
been ringing in my ears all the time. Otherwise 
I did not like the book much ; yet I would rather 
read a book barren of incident, but with one noble 
sentiment to attract the attention, than a mere tale 
of love and adventure which left nothing except 
a dull, mental lassitude behind it.” 

What sentiment was it, pray, that you admired 
so much ?” I asked. 

‘‘ ‘ Many a law, many a commandment, have I 
broken, but my word never !’ It is encouraging to 
know, that however a man may be steeped in crime, 
he can have one sentiment of honor, one principle, 
that has never been violated, and which, being ap- 
pealed to, could make him a man again. Especially 
is there something to hope for and trust in a man 
when his word is his honor ; I could forget every- 
thing else against hope when I knew* his word, 
being once pledged, was sacred to him, and ’could 
be relied upon.’' 

Ah, it was the Knight Templar you met with ! 
Was not Miss Rosamond equally impressed with 
the tale 

Yes, she liked it; I was only interested in the 
fate of Rebecca, and her poor, persecuted old father ; 
but Rosy liked Ivanhoe and Robin Hood most.” 


76 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


What about Rosy and her contemporary, Robin 
Hood, my dear V asked Rosamond, who had caught 
her own mellifluent name, mingled with the cele- 
brated archer’s, above the rest of the conversation, 
and immediately broke off* her own sentence to 
make the inquiry. 

‘‘We were speaking of your literary taste, I 
said, replying for Lucy. 

“ Well, I must confess it is very contracted ; for 
I cannot endure any of the graver classes except 
history,” she answered. 

“ What histories have you been reading lately ?” 
asked Robert, archly. 

“ Indeed I cannot remember; for I do not even 
care for history unless it comes in the shape of the 
‘Days of Bruce,’ ‘Tales of the Crusaders,’ Scott’s 
novels, or in some way flavored and colored with 
the cream of romance.” 

A general laugh followed this candid acknowl- 
edgment ; and, piqued that her frankness and taste 
had been made a subject for laughter, she fired up 
against Robert, and hurled in his face invectives at 
his disposition to ridicule. 

I was surprised at seeing her so openly betray 
the quick, passionate temper her physiognomy in- 
dicated; but no one else appeared so, or seemed 
even annoyed by the sudden ebullition, and she 
continued until it had spent itself. 

As her eyes emitted the l^t sparks of anger, 
Robert soothingly said, — 

“ There, now, be calm and forgive me, like a 


Tr.4.S' SHE ENGAGED? 


77 


good girl, and I will confess my fault, and admit 
that I was tempted to tease you, because you look 
so spirited and dangerously interesting when you 
get angry ; in fact, something like that Flora 
Macivor we are introduced to by Scott, your fa- 
vorite historian.^' 

The rapidity with which this speech acted, like 
oil upon the troubled waters, showed the suscepti- 
bility of her mind to flattery, and the electric 
flashes of satisfaction it called up betrayed vanity 
to be the most assailable point in her character. 
She confessed how fond she was of romance, and 
how tame she found the real incidents of everyday 
life, and all the while her eyes expressed more ap- 
preciation of Eobert’s motive, in calling forth her 
warm temper, than mortiflcation in having so pub- 
licly exposed it. 

The conversation had scarcely been resumed by 
twos again before we heard the door-bell ring, and 
Sarah arose, saying that it was a servant whom she 
had directed to call for her at that hour, and she 
would now wish us a good-evening. 

Her manner of taking leave was suited to each 
one of the company, with her usual discrimination ; 
and she so acquitted herself that we all felt a per- 
fect mistress of deportment and good breeding had 
left us, however much our private opinions diflered 
in regard to her real character. 

The opinions were not expressed then, of course, 
but I think they stood thus, — Eobert and Eosa- 
mond believed the worst; Mr. Davenport and Lucy 

7 * 


78 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


believed the best ; while I held medium views, 
hoping she would judge me as charitably from her 
standpoint as I tried to judge her from mine. 

We both wore masks in the family, but our pre- 
vious history did not concern the good people at 
Mr. Davenport’s; and we could not do otherwise 
than we had done ; and, though deception had been 
practiced, I do not think they would have con- 
demned us for it had they known it, more than we 
would have condemned others placed in the same 
situation as ourselves. 


CHAPTER VI. 


I HAVE now introduced those with whom we will 
have most to do in this story ; but I find I have in- 
convenienced myself somewhat by adopting this 
autobiographical method of writing about them. 
Most authors have the advantage of ubiquity, by 
being impersonal in their tale ; but I have unwit- 
tingly forfeited that by making myself as any other 
character in it. 

It is no trifling advantage, truly, when with it 
an author can follow each person in a separate path, 
become acquainted with the thoughts and motives 
of each, without waiting for time to reveal them, 
and report conversations which would not have 
taken place had the presence of a third party been 
suspected. All this my oversight has lost to me, 
rightfully ; but as I did not undertake to write an 
autobiography, I will not wait to explain how I 
came to know it whenever I tell anything that was 
said or done when I was not present. 

But Robert can be quoted as my authority at 
present, because I learned from him, on our way 
home from Mr. Davenport’s, more about Sarah’s 
relationship to the family than Lucy had told me. 

She was cousin to Rosamond and Lucy, and the 

(t9) 


80 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


daughter of the man who had taken Eosamond^s 
farm from her by the force of the law. 

Though more aristocratic in feeling than the ar- 
tist’s family, on account of greater wealth, she was 
almost a daily visitor there, until the time Lucy^s 
mother died; and Eobert, living then in the 
family, was as intimately acquainted with her as if 
she had been his own cousin. 

She was four years older than either of her 
cousins, and patronized them in consequence, 
while they allied for mutual sympathy and defense 
against her pretensions. To be old enough to set 
up for a young lady was the greatest extent of am- 
bition and happiness their youthful minds could 
encompass ; and with no little envy they saw the 
precedence Sarah’s age gave her to the attentions 
of Eobert, their joint squire. 

Eobert, too, was not insensible to the attractions 
of her maturity, and willingly paid her the atten- 
tions she was so rigid in exacting, both in the most 
approved forms of etiquette, and on the most trifling 
occasions for gallantry. 

Eosamond was sensitive of these claims to an 
excessive degree, for her natural precocity re- 
belled against a slight, and almost while a child 
she imbibed a jealousy of Sarah which lasted for 
life. 

When the lawsuit for the farm at last put an end 
to the peaceful flow of family intercourse, the 
girls’ intimacy was discontinued, and had never 
been renewed until this time, three years after the 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


81 


author of the discord had mingled with the dust 
of his coveted earth. 

Sarah had made the only amends she could by 
calling on Rosamond, if indeed a child can be 
said to be amenable for the actions of its father, 
in a country where attainting is forbidden by its 
constitution. 

After the company had withdrawn that night, 
and with Sarah’s parting kiss yet warm on her 
cheek, Rosamond showed her appreciation of the 
visit, by saying, exultingly, to Lucy, — 

Eh, Luce, my dear, now has our time come to 
be the young ladies ! What a difference four years 
do make, after all ! I could not realize it when 
we were only fourteen and she was eighteen ; but 
circumstances alter cases now, when she is twenty- 
four and we are but twenty ! Ugh ! It makes the 
blood cold in my veins to think of being twenty- 
four years and not yet married ! How the thought 
that she can no longer overshadow us and mono- 
polize the beaux must prey upon her beauty ! What 
is it somebody tells us about an old maid? ‘ She 
never told her love, but let concealment, like a 
worm, prey upon the damask roses of her cheeks!’ 
Something like that. Twenty four years^ and we are 
only tioeniy ! Hurrah for the'young ladies, now! 
Hurrah, Luce, I say!” 

Rosy dear, do not be so severe on Sarah, she 
is not so old yet, and I am sure four years do not 
make so much difference at our ages now as when 
we were so much younger,” replied Lucy, entreat- 


82 


WAS SHE ENGAGED ? 

iiigly, lest her father should OTOiiiek* the uncousinij ' 
exultation. 

‘‘ Twenty -four yearSy and we are only twenty! Who 
will command the attentions of the beaux now ? 
Lucy, ma ehere, we played our parts well without a 
rehearsal ! You kept Mr. Pearson from saying two 
words to her all the evening, and I labored quite 
as hard, and almost as successfully, to keep Bob 
from wasting any of his old smiles on her. Twenty- 
four ’’ 

Cousin Posy, you are going mad, I fear ! I did 
not labor to keep Mr. Pearson or any one else from 
speaking to her, and I am surprised that you 
should be so ungenerous to ’’ 

‘‘ Twenty four yearSy and we are only twenty ” 

To one who has called on you the moment she 
heard of your arrival in town, though your gain 
was her loss. My father and Robert both think it 
is very handsome of her to do so,’’ persisted Lucy. 

‘^Your father entertained her with his history 
and philosophy all the evening, and he can do so 
again if she comes, while the other two attend to 
our wants. His solid conversation is well suited to 
her advanced age. Twenty four years! Who would 
have thought six years ago that even the revolu- 
tions of the earth would so change the order of 
things that we would be ever counted anything 
except children ! Oh, oh, my blissful soul ! how it 
makes me laugh to think how majestically she used 
to wave her fan, like a scepter, and say ‘ the childreny 
whenever we wanted Robert to do anything for us ! 


t 

WAS SUE ENGAGED? 83 

I 'guess he will not mind her scepter now ! Twenty- 
four years old^ unmarried^ and without a heauV^ 

The wayward girl had exhausted her breath for 
a moment, and Lucy replied, — 

‘^As much as he ever did, and more, too, if he 
thought she was so desolate and hopeless as 
you describe her. How could he say much to 
her to-night, when father monopolized her alto- 
gether ?” 

Would he, indeed? Well, then, hear how he 
now treats the ^ Queen of Love and Beauty’ of his 
extreme youth,” she gleefully exclaimed, thrusting 
her hand into her pocket, which was the receptacle 
of all the curiosities of floating literature that came 
in her way before she transferred them to her scrap- 
book. I cut these lines out of a magazine, for I 
saw they were signed with my initials. Of course I 
need not say I am not the author, but ‘R. IL’ 
answer for Robert Heberton as well as Rosy Hey- 
wood, and he blushed like a culprit to-night when 
I asked him whether he was acquainted with a lady 
named ‘ May Merle.’ It is a true prophecy of this 
evening’s events. Here is ye sorrowful story of ye 
antique maid : 

‘ May Merle is silently sitting 

’Midst maidens and gallants so gay ; 

And why sadly bend o’er her knitting 
While others around her are flitting, >• 

And flirting, and laughing away ? 

< Ah, well 1 there’s a short reign (hut merry), 

For each fair and winsome young maid ; . ' 


84 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


And May, with eyes black as a berry, 

And cheeks round and red as a cherry, 

Was queen for one rosy decade I 

‘ Then May of all hearts was the center. 

And her smile would assemble the beaux ; 
But the scepter of power Venus lent her 
Eavored all the gay courtiers who bent her 
Their salaams in admiring rows. 

‘Yes, one there is yet who remembers 
The time lovers lingered near May ; 

For still in his heart there are embers 
(Burned low by a dozen Decembers) 

Of a fire she alone could allay ! 

* With a youth ^s ardent passion he met her, 

Seeming holy, and gentle, and wise ; 

And, oh, then for both it were better 
Had she gave him a frown, not a fetter. 
And spared him a draught from her eyes ! 

* But vain in the triumph of beauty. 

She sought every heart to subdue 
That paid to her grace passing duty. 

Nor prized she the one humble suit he 
Modestly held to her view. 

‘And while others came and departed, 

An inconstant, varying train. 

He remained ever true-hearted, 

Now glad when kind glances she darted. 
And by a slight saddened again. 

* Maybe young, and alone in a city. 

His steps by her worship were stayed. 
And her smiles were of kindness and pity ; 
But ah, she was tender and witty. 
Whenever his love was betrayed ! - 


TTJl^S' SHE ENGAGED? 


85 


* It was vain to plead love, so he let her 

Vaguely guess at the anguish he bore, 

"While he left the gay hosts who beset her, 

And fought to he free and forget her, 

Till it cankered his heart to the core. 

• *At length came avenging Nemesis, 

In one to whose suit she inclined ; 

But faithless and brief his addresses. 

He soon spied another's brown tresses. 

And left May an embittered mind. 

* Long with lovers the question she parried. 

Whether maid she would be or a wife ; 

Por while she had youth left they tarried. 

Then fled one by one, or got married, 

And left her to eke a lone life I 

*And now, by her father escorted. 

May marches to church very staid. 

While other nymphs, flattered and courted 
By beaux, once to her that resorted. 

Hold the scepter of love which she swayed. 

‘And May Merle, could she live over 
Her life, by its lessons inspired, — 

Could she youth and her heart now recover, — 

Might rather have one faithful lover 
Than thousands who only admired P 

There, now, what do you say to that ? Kobert 
is a prophet ! It cannot have been written more 
than two weeks, and to-night it was fulfilled before 
our eyes. Oh, my inspired friend Robert, how 
‘ coming events cast their shadows before,’ to thee 
she exclaimed. 

“ I say it has no reference to Cousin Sara^*' 

8 


86 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


Yes it has ! ‘ May Merle is silently sitting/ list- 
ening to your father, of course, ‘ Midst maidens and 
gallants so gay,’ — which means us, — you and I, Mr. 
Pearson and Robert : could anything be more ex- 
plicit ? The first time I saw him after I came home 
to you, I asked him about Sarah, and twitted him 
because he did not get her after all his attentions. 
He told me he had heard of her lately, and she was 
not married yet, so that it was not too late to renew 
their old acquaintance ; but it is ; and he knew it. 
^ Could she youth and her heart now recover;’ but 
she cannot — and the muse broke down here at the 
impossibility of such a thing ; for a woman has no 
heart or youth left her at twenty-four; the girl 
has squandered both away if she had enough of 
charms to make her prodigal, which Sarah had, 
my dear.’’ And here she was compelled to pause 
for breath. 

Lucy was looking at the lines, when her oppor- 
tunity of saying something came again, and she 
mildly retorted, — 

Rosy, I am glad no one besides a cousin and a 
friend hears you speak thus ; if any one^ else had 
heard you treat a relative and a woman that way, 
what would be thought of yourself or your sex ?” 

“ Why, that I spoke my mind without fear or 
favor ; and I would not care if they thought other- 
wise ; for who is any one else, that I should mind 
them ? I hate my sex, and am ashamed of it, for 
fearing to do and speak the truth independently ot 
what any one else may think of it. What do we 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


87 


learn to repeat the Declaration of Independence at 
school for if we do not practice it, pray?’' 

We learn from it that it was the fruits of a 
^ decent respect to the opinions of mankind;^ and a per- 
son’s self-respect, or independence, is never com- 
promised by a modest desire to have the approval 
of all whose opinions we ought to respect,” said 
Lucy, gravely; for being trained by her father, her 
mind easily turned upon argument, and what 
passed as current wisdom or leading moral truths 
among less careful and subtle minds, was well fil- 
tered and analyzed before it was indorsed by her. 

‘‘Well, Lucy, we will not quarrel about her ! We 
have always stood by each other against her, and 
we may be compelled to do it again.” 

“ Those times are past, and the causes of our 
jealousies were as childish as ourselves; so there 
is no need to anticipate fresh vexations ; for I trust 
we have grown wiser with our years.” 

“Maybe we have, but the wisdom that comes 
with age does not always make us better; all 
women are our rivals and enemies to compete 
with, and one that has reached the age of twenty- 
four is not to be despised, for she generally makes 
up in experience and duplicity as much power 
as she has lost in freshness and youth.” 

Lucy gazed a moment upon the speaker, as if 
unable to comprehend the spirit of her philosophy, 
and then said, with her voice softened almost to a 
sigb 

“I wish you had never left us, Rosy, for I am 


88 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


sure that such feelings would not have been engen- 
dered here with us. It must make you very un- 
happy to look upon your own sex as your rivals 
and enemies, when Providence has made us weak 
ithat we might befriend and sympathize with each 
other.’' 

With all respect for your own goodness and 
opinion, Lucy dear, I do not think that Provi- 
dence ever had such intentions concerning us. We 
are made different from all other creatures of the 
earth, in that the female of man is expected to 
have all the beauty and accomplishments with 
which to charm a mate to itself. Look at Audu- 
bon’s Ornithology, for instance, and you will see 
that the male bird is always the most beautiful ; 
has the gayest plumage and the sweetest voice, and 
then with these, the attendant duties of strutting, 
cackling, cooing, singing, parading, and fighting 
to attract and please the female saddled upon it ; 
while the female is plain, passive, silent, and se- 
date, but entirely free from the vanity, rivalry, 
jealousy, contentions, and cares which appear to 
be inseparable from the beauty and gifts of the 
male bird. They are not trained or schooled to act 
such different parts, or restrained by parents, pro- 
priety, or philosophy, so you must admit their cus- 
toms and feelings are as Providence ordained them. 
Now, with mankind it is reversed: the female has 
the gifts and beauties of the male of the feathered 
tribe, and how can the feelings and duties be differ- 
ent with the same object in view when she got th^m ? 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


89 


These feelings and duties compel us to sing, 
parade our forms, and adorn them with plumage ; 
show off* our accomplishments and beauties, fight 
and intrigue, to be mated; and how can we be 
otherwise than jealous and envious to the end of 
our daj^s? For my part, I would rather see my 
sex like the hen birds, with no beauty to make us 
jealous, and no duties, save that of quietly choos- 
ing, to make us enemies; but, since it is not so, 
nothing remains for me to do but to accept the dis- 
agreeable and distracting situation, and make the 
best fight I can for myself!’* she exclaimed. 

This was a standpoint from which Lucy had 
never been taught to view nature by her father; 
and, seeing how far astray Rosamond was, without 
knowing how to convince her of error, she merely 
put the theory in a practical light by saying, — 

“ So Providence intends, then, that you and I 
should envy, annoy, and hate each other in spite 
of the ties of blood and friendship ?” 

I could never be jealous or envious of 
you. You are a thousand times too good for me, 
dear,” returned Rosamond, passionately embracing 
her. ‘‘But, my word for it. Luce, Sarah means 
mischief by coming here, — I saw it in her eyes ; so 
be careful, for you are a dove compared' with her, 
my dear.” 

Maybe Rosamond was right in her caution, 
and Sarah’s visit was not so disinterested after all. 
She was free now, and perhaps thought the 
boyish preferences of Robert could be developed, 
8 * 


90 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and so made Rosamond’s return a cover for her 
attack. 

If this is what Rosamond meant, it was very- 
creditable to her acuteness, though not to her sim- 
plicity and innocence ; for the woman that can 
search out another’s secret motives so well has not 
a guileless heart herself. 

And if this was Sarah’s true motive in calling, 
how malapropos was my visit ! — seeing the one she 
had lately acknowledged as her lover the com- 
panion of him whom she designed for her next 
lover must have rendered her plans abortive and 
made further visits unnecessary. 

She was too self-possessed to betray it, however, 
and her visits were continued almost daily ; but as 
she seldom remained to tea, we did not often meet 
her there. 

Autumn and winter had passed over, and 
as spring was slowly retreating before the ap- 
proaching summer, the family made preparations 
for moving out to the farm, which they had not 
visited for years. 

Robert had accepted their invitation to make it 
his home during the summer, and I had also 
pledged myself to go out from the heat and dust of 
the city and remain a week or two with them 
whenever business would permit me. 

A similar promise was obtained from Sarah, 
who ‘‘in view of approaching old maidenhood was 
learning to paint upon porcelain.” These were 
Rosamond’s words, and, if they were intended to 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


91 


be sarcastic, they had failed, for they awoke a feel 
ing of interest and sympathy for her that would 
not have been known had she been spoken of with 
praise or pity. Her father had not left his large 
and helpless family in independent circumstances; 
and as she was the oldest of four sisters and one 
infant brother, she felt it incumbent upon her to 
do something towards self-sustenance. Perhaps 
some one has said before me that man is a con- 
ceited ape, and will believe anything that flatters 
his self-love ; but no matter whether it is original 
with me or a dormant sentiment revived by 
memory, for the failing, though as old as old 
Adam^ is discovered by most men by acquaintance 
with themselves some time in life, and discovered 
in them by all women at a very early age. 

Perhaps this is all for me, and Sarah has found 
that she loved even better than she supposed' and 
now has no hopes that she can ever love again,’* 
were words which I whispered to my vanity when 
I heard Rosamond speak of the provision Sarah 
was making for old maidenhood.” 

They were followed by fears that I was too il- 
liberal in making allowances for the vagaries of 
love, which exacted at one time much more than it 
countenanced at another. I used to argue that 
friendship, like the atmosphere, became light by 
too much expansion, and when limited to a few 
the heart could love them better than when di- 
vided between too many ; but Sarah always con- 
tended that as the muscles were developed and 


92 


Tf.4^ SHE ENGAGED? 


strengthened by constant and varied exercise, so 
were the affections, and that loving a great many 
only increased the heart’s capacity for loving them 
better. 

She illustrated her principles by opening her 
heart to every handsome beau she met, and de- 
manded a like consistency from me by requiring 
me to keep my heart closed against even sorrow 
for the death of a friend. 

Thus it seemed that no more than a sentiment 
had come between us; but it was as hard to get 
over it as the ‘‘ great wall of China.” 

To return to the Davenport family: Eobert 
and Rosamond had made several visits to the 
farm to ascertain what repairs were necessary to 
make the house comfortable, and found it needed 
much less than they had anticipated, as it had 
been in the hands of a careful agent and a good 
tenant. 

At a family council, it was proposed to sell out 
all the furniture in the house in town, after select- 
ing family relics and such articles as would add to 
the comfort of a country home, and then rent or 
sell the house, and make the one in the country a 
permanent residence. 

This was discussed by the four who were con- 
sidered one family, — Mr. Davenport and Lucy 
against it, and Rosamond and Robert for it. 
Probably Mr. Davenport and his daughter argued 
with themselves that when Rosamond got married 
they would have to replace the furniture at a loss, 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


93 


and it would be better to close the house until Fall, 
and move back again, so as to leave Rosamond free. 

The generous mistress did not think of that, I 
know, or she would have laughed at their prudence; 
and Robert, economical and farseeing as he mostly 
was, might have purposely overlooked it, for no 
one was paying Rosamond any attentions, and he 
was getting quite fond of her himself. 

The question was settled by a compromise at 
last ; the furniture was to be stored, and the house 
rented for six months or a year, and the time for 
moving back left open. 

The afternoon they had appointed for selecting 
and packing such articles as they were to take with 
them was made known to Sarah and myself, and 
we both were on hand to assist them. Robert and 
I attended to the books, while the young ladies 
selected those things pertaining to housekeeping. 

Once or twice Rosamond came to caution us 
against forgetting those books in which she was 
interested, and at last she was prevailed upon to' 
stay with us. She was silent and moody when* 
with her own sex, but with us she resumed an 
account of her adventures and feelings, which were 
characteristic of her fearless and somewhat impa- 
tient disposition, and tinged with a satirical humor 
that made her a very entertaining companion. 

Horseback exercise seemed to be especially her 
delight forte ; bareback, side-saddle, or, I be- 
lieve, any way ; and, as I expressed my admiration 
and interest in her accomplishments as undisguisedly 


94 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


as Robert did, she said she would insure me a gor- 
geous’' time when I came out to see them, and 
would ride the wildest horse in the country over 
the highest fences on the farm for my amusement. 
This led me to say that I would be there often to 
see what I admired so much in a lady, — a firm hand 
and a fearless heart. 

The hand that can hold the reins firmly is firm 
in friendship, and the heart that is elated at the 
prospect of adventure and danger, will never shirk 
the duties and responsibilities of life when truth 
and affection are the horses,*’ I said, widely and 
wildly moralizing. 

I could not, however, have said anything more 
acceptable to her fancy, and she adopted my words 
with such eagerness I thought she suspected her- 
self to be wanting in constancy, and was glad to 
get something to reassure her; but she then turned 
a look so full of meaning upon Robert as she re- 
peated my words, I guessed, in a moment, that they 
had had discussions on the subject of her constancy, 
and thought the conversation which had led to 
such a discussion must have been of a very con- 
fidential nature. 

Her graceful form, which Was wisely left to na- 
ture’s moulding, was the personification of health 
and beauty, and I could not wonder as she moved 
about the library that Robert, who had a horror 
of those delicate females overcharged with sensi- 
bility and nervousness, was hourly becoming more 
and more attached to her. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


95 


We were joined by the other two, and Eosamond 
repeated my speech to them, adding that she 
thought it was as sound as it was original. Lucy 
laughed at it, and asked whether I had arrived at 
that conclusion by analogy or observation ; but an 
expression of scorn and incredulity passed over 
Sarah’s pale face, as if it were too absurd to be 
repeated before any person of good sense, which, 
perhaps, it really was. 

The expression only rested an instant, but long 
enough for both Eosamond and myself to observe 
it ; the two persons her politeness would fain have 
concealed it from, for each one would take it all as 
a personal insult, being conscious of her secret dis- 
dain. 

Eosamond’s face, which was as readable as a 
book, betrayed so much resentment that she was 
compelled to turn it aside lest we should see it, and 
the inherent rivalry of those two cousins was not 
soothed by this interchange of expression. 

Eobert had been silent on the new idea, so‘ far, 
but now took sides against Eosamond and myself, 
by saying that if there was truth enough in it to 
make it a rule, yet he knew the exceptions would 
be quite numerous, and he thought the present in- 
stance belonged to the exceptions rather than the 
rule. 

Though pleasantly said, Eosamond took it much 
to heart, and exclaimed, — 

Yes, that is just your way; you give me credit 
for nothing worth having, and if Mr. Pearson had 


96 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


said it in connection with any one else, no one 
would have been more ready to indorse it than 
you.*^ 

He laughed at her pout, and replied, — 

I grant it, because its weakness might not then 
have been so palpable ; but in yoking it with you 
he very awkwardly coupled its contradiction with 
it, and forced an objection on my mind that might 
not have otherwise occurred to me until after I 
had given it my assent.” 

While Robert was joking, and in fact I said it 
as a mere gallantry, Rosamond was in earnest from 
first to last, and said now, in an impatient tone, — 
Robert, you know nothing of my character, 
notwithstanding your boasted knowledge of human 
nature ! Do you think I am fickle, Lucy?” 

Well, no, I do not think you are. Rosy,” said 
Lucy, with the manner of a witness who was in 
doubt of the correctness of her own evidence, and 
thought it her duty to give the prisoner the benefit 
of her doubts. 

But the prisoner did not notice the feebleness of 
Lucy’s demonstration in her favor, and exultingly 
exclaimed, — 

‘‘There, Lucy knows me better than any one else, 
for we do up each other’s hair night and morning; 
but I know where you get your ideas from : you 
get them from what I sometimes say to tease you. 
I told you the other day of a girl who had engaged 
herself to six men, and had promised to marry two 
of them on the same week, which promise she 


TTJl/S^ SHE ENGAGED? 


97 


kept with one, wearing at the wedding a set of 
jewelry the other had sent her for his own nuptial 
adornment. You pronounced her a thief, and said 
she ought to have spent her honeymoon in the 
State prison; which was very harsh and ungallant 
of you, for you should have considered how often 
men are as false and undecided to the very last 
moment.’’ 

‘‘No, I do not know of any instance I could con- 
sider; gallantry would not forbid people to de- 
nounce such a base and false act if a man had 
done it, and I think when it comes to a question ^ 
of truth and honesty, it ought not to be considered 
from such a standpoint.” 

“And please, then, tell me what proof has a 
woman that the man she is marrying is not as 
false and dishonest as this bride was ?” 

“ When a man asks a woman to marry him, he 
gives her a guarantee that he loves her better than 
any one else, because, as Lamb says, he practically 
refuses every unmarried woman of his acquaintance 
whom he does not ask, while he has no evidence 
that she has, or would have, refused any one for 
him, or that he would have been the object of her 
choice were they to exchange places with each 
other ! So this prerogative of man’s has two draw- 
backs to its convenience : the first is that he is in 
danger of being refused, and the next "is that he 
may be accepted — to be kept in reserve until a 
more eligible party is found to displace him, or 
because no one else is expected to offer himself; 

9 


98 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and the old maxim, ‘ If you can’t get what you 
want, then take what you can get,’ seems a wise 
one.” 

This brought the other girls up to Rosamond’s 
aid; for the reputation of their sex was menaced, 
and they attacked Robert’s position with a united 
front. 

While Lucy denied his statement in toto, and 
said ‘‘ Lamb loas a wolf in sheep’s clothing f Sarah 
accepted it as fact, and adroitly used it to his 
discomfiture, by saying that since custom and 
man’s incredulity had denied to woman the credit 
of a preference, he ought not to blame this girl for 
using five other skeptics to prove to the one she 
married that he was really the man of her choice. 

The labor of packing was closed with a festival, 
and next morning Mr. Davenport and the two girls ^ 
left the city, while Robert remained behind a few 
days to attend to the storing of the furniture. 


CHAPTER VIL 


The discontentment Robert had felt, or feigned, 
the evening he exposed his log-fire visions to me 
had at last become real and chronic. He had be- 
come tenderly attached to Rosy Hey wood, and 
fully aware that she was not exactly all his fancy 
could paint her, being neither lovely nor divine in 
the strictest sense of those terms, he was not satis 
fied with himself. 

She was unquestionably a fine, cheerful, ardent 
girl, one that any man who did not look farther 
than twenty years ahead could see a good, suitable 
wife in ; but Robert looked fifty years ahead, and 
then beyond that into eternity, and Rosamond ap- 
peared to be wanting in those qualities necessary 
for such a prolonged companionship. 

But he had not power to withstand the aggres- 
sive character of such qualities as she had, being 
exposed to them every hour, and at a place where 
she could revel in that wild freedom so delightful 
to her and becoming to her peculiar temperament 
and style of beauty. Lucy was very much con- 
fined by her father’s indisposition, for her cousin, 
however well disposed, was not thoughtful enough 
to lighten her duties. As she was always cheerful 
and happy, Rosamond doubtless thought patient 
nursing and parental society as well suited to her 

( 99 ) 


100 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


disposition as active and exciting employments 
were to herself, and was not, therefore, conscious 
of any selfishness in leaving Lucy so much alone 
with her father. 

Kobert was, therefore, with her a great deal; 
they walked together, rode together, and sung 
together, and she laughingly excused her mo- 
nopoly of his time by saying that he was the only 
young man available, and the first beau she could 
catch out there in the country should relieve him. 

Perhaps he thought there was some truth in her 
jest, and in their conversations, which were always 
of that dangerous character peculiar to a couple 
who half love and half distrust each other, he 
would, in the same spirit, accuse her of being 
fickle and inconstant. 

She was too cunning to remain on the defensive, 
and would generally parry his thrusts by charging 
the same character back on him ; and then a truce 
would follow, which each party would improve by 
blowing a trumpet in its own praise. In this way 
she would assure him that she was the most con- 
stant creature in the world, that she never forgot a 
friend, and that as he was the only one who had 
formed such a poor opinion of her, justice to her 
demanded its surrender. 

A third party hearing some of their conversa- 
tions might think she was forcing herself on 
Robert; but he never had such a thought; for 
however unmaidenly her words might appear on 
paper, they were greatly modified by the speeches 


SHE ENGAGED? 


101 


which led to them, and the light, careless tone they 
were uttered in. Robert, too, was always the ag- 
gressor; for, as his knowledge of her character 
was not satisfactory to him, he was anxious to hear 
her deny its accuracy, or even prove to him that 
she was not more unstable than himself. 

She very often accompanied him on his sketch- 
ing tours, and surprised him by her insensibility to 
fatigue when they ascended the heights which sur- 
rounded the farm. 

While he sketched she usually roamed about, 
gathering mosses, herbs, or wild flowers ; and if he 
had often laid his pencil down while she was ab- 
sent, and gave himself to thoughts wholly uncon- 
nected with his occupation, no one who knew the 
strait he was in would blame him. 

Where all this would end, and whether it would 
end in anything, or in disappointment to one or 
both, were questions which he often asked, but 
never answered himself; for, notwithstanding she 
engrossed so much of his time, he still questioned 
whether he loved her, or whether it was not to cir- 
cumstances, rather than to choice, he was indebted 
- for her society and friendship. 

Often he used to argue with me that love, mar- 
riage, and everything else were governed entirely 
by circumstances ; that a thousand women, which 
would suit a man just as well as the one he loved, 
had been passed by mere accident, and were not 
known to exist, merely because circumstances 
threw them apart instead of together. But this 
9 * 


102 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


theory did not satisfy him now. Rosamond had 
no opportunities of seeing any one else, and judg- 
ing how worthy he was of her regard by com- 
parison. 

He wished there had been some one to contend 
with him for her smiles, though his natural modesty 
predicted the worst for himself if there had been. 
But no one, as far as he knew, had crossed her 
sequestered path, and he was far too generous to 
wish to profit by such a disadvantage to her. 

But, besides his doubts of there being love be- 
tween them, and of her disposition, hopes, and 
aspirations being such as he had hoped to find in a 
wife, there was one more thought which seemed 
more oppressive to his feelings than all else. 

He was very independent, and, as a husband, 
would be very jealous of his self-respect, and he 
did not believe that any woman could feel that 
she had made her husband wealthy, and at the 
same time respect him. The fact might not occur 
to her during the freshness of her love, but it 
would before they had been long married ; and 
feminine vanity would not think lightly of such a 
matter. 

If his income was enough to provide for her, so 
that her money was not wanted in the family, and 
entirely at her own disposal, the trouble might be 
averted. But Robert had always solved the marriage 
problem by the rule of three,^’ and could never 
believe that plenty for one would be plenty for two. 

This state of things could not last long; for 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


103 


though, when alone, he made many a resolution to 
avoid the subject of constancy, and look to his ideal 
to prove Rosamond was not what he wanted, his 
heart betrayed him into the same speeches every 
time they were together. 

One day he was amusing himself with his pencil, 
and Rosamond, becoming tired of watching its 
movements, left him and stole up to a favorite 
horse, which was resting on the sward. Seating 
herself on his back, and starting him from his bed, 
she drove him round and round the field at a 
gallop. Robert dropped his pencil and gazed en- 
raptured at £er as she made evolutions which 
would have done credit to a Comanche. As she 
approached him, after making half a score circuits 
of the field, with hair broken loose from its con- 
finement, and flowing in dark chestnut waves over 
her shoulders, her cheeks glowing and eyes flash- 
ing with exercise and excitement, he lost all com- 
mand of his prudence, and jumped up, overcome 
by his admiration. 

Come here. Rosy, and let me tell you some- 
thing that ought to interest you,” he said, affect- 
ing a gay, careless tone, which ill accorded with 
the passionate earnestness of his feelings. 

She checked the horse’s speed, and using her 
hat, which she held by its strings, to turn him, she 
walked him up to where Robert stood. 

He seized the hand by which she held the hat, 
and, bringing his other hand quickly to her waist, 
drew her oS the horse by main force. 


104 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


N’ot half so graceful as you could do it when a 
boy, Bob ! Isn’t it strange that your sex always 
grow awkward as they grow old ?” she said, 
attempting to free herself as she touched the 
ground. 

As he still held her half caressingly, she looked 
into his face in surprise, and saw reflected in it 
the stiniggle which raged in his breast, the desire 
to ask her love and confess his admiration (for he 
did not even at that moment of excitement think 
that he had so far given up his ideas of what he 
wanted in a wife as to say at once he loved her), 
and the generous feelings that forbade him to speak 
of it 

After a moment he mastered his feelings enough 
to make a compromise, and said, — 

‘‘ \ have been very sad all day. Rosy, for an old 
man over there guessed at my age, and thought 
me so much older than I really am, I fear that by 
the time I am rich enough to get married no one 
will have me.” 

“ Pooh, nonsense ! You will always be able to 
And some one glad to get you. Bob,” she said, in a 
lively, reassuring tone. 

‘‘Yes, maybe some one; but what kind of a one 
will she be, when I am so old ?” 

“A real nice one, too ; such a one as you will 
like, I’ll warrant you,” she cheerfully said. 

“You will guarantee that, will you, Rosy?” 

“Yes, I will guarantee it,” she confidently said. 

He was not saying just what he wished to say, 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


105 


for he thought if Rosy would wait awhile he might 
have an income large enough to leave her portion 
out of the question ; but, at the same time, his 
generous mind cautioned him against asking Jier 
to bind herself so long before he could marry her, 
and deprive her of the chance of other ofters for 
an uncertainty. 

Hoping he might be explicit enoug^ to assure 
her of his love, and at the same time4eave her free 
to wait for him or to accept a better offer, he 
made another attempt, — 

will never marry without consulting you. 
Rosy, if you will promise to give your consent to 
my marriage with such a person as would suit me, 
no matter who that person shall be.” 

‘‘Yes, you shall have her with my consent, who- 
ever she may be, if she is worthy of you, Bob,” 
she unhesitatingly said. 

‘‘I being the judge of that, of course?” 

Oh, no, — I being judge ; for love is proverbially 
blind, and I should be sorry all my life if I allowed 
you to marry one undeserving of the honor of 
being your wife.” 

He had not yet shaped his speech so as to leave 
himself bound and her loose; but there was a 
steady, intelligent light in her eyes that satisfied 
him that he was comprehended, and he ex- 
claimed, — 

Give me your hand on that; it is a real bona 
fde bargain! I will never marry without your 
consent, and you will not refuse the person of my 


106 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 9 


choice to me, when I get richer, and can aflbrd to 
marry.” 

‘‘Yes, you have my hand on it,” she said, laugh- 
ing, seeing that he had been holding both her hands 
for some time. 

He pressed them so warmly he could not know 
whether the pressure was returned ever so slightly 
or not, an/J, drawing her arm within his, they 
walked up towards a hill. 

“You see what you have done now. Rosy, — 
made yourself responsible in the eyes of the law 
for a wife when I want her,” he said. 

“ Oh, hut you would not go to law with me, 
would you. Bob?” she asked, as if frightened. 

“You know you have, by guaranteeing me such 
a wife as I shall want, in a manner indorsed a note 
which may be returned to you protested any day at 
all, and you must pay it according to law,” he said. 

Rosy was much interested in commercial forms 
and transactions, and, at this moment getting an 
idea of what would be expected in a case of this 
kind, she said, with an archness that pleased 
Robert, — 

“Yes, but you are bound by business principles 
to do all you can to get it accepted by some one 
else before you fall back on me!” 

“I am bound by honor to ask no one to accept 
me whom I do not love, or with whom you could 
not consent to my marriage ; but I will be this lib- 
eral with you : if you are married when I am rich 
enough to look for a wife, I will not keep you to 


SHE ENGAGED? 


107 


your bargain ; you will have so many cares of your 
own you will not think of me then.” 

There was a few moments silence, and then Ro- 
samond, who, perhaps, thought she had let herself 
be entrapped too easily, said, — 

‘‘You have fallen in love with some one you 
have seen lately, Robert, or you would not ask my 
advice ; perhaps you would like me to become your 
friend at court. Is Sarah the favored one ?” 

He was not so easily deceived; and, without an- 
swering the last clause otherwise than with an im- 
patient look, he said, — 

“Ho, Rosy dear, I need no friend at court, fori 
like courting well enough to do my own share, and 
if I was not too poor to get married now, no one 
could more willingly and energetically apply him- 
self to the courting part; but I do not think it is 
right to monopolize a girl’s time and aftections so 
long before marriage. Ho one can tell what may 
happen ; and, besides, our tastes are always chang- 
ing, and a girl should have the advantage of celi- 
bacy to the latest moment that she is denied the 
security of marriage.” 

“ Perhaps she would not care whether you were 
rich or poor,” Rosamond thoughtfully said. 

“If I thought she did, I would not want her; 
but I care a great deal, for it is my business to 
think of that; and both manhood and independ- 
ence require that I should be able to provide for 
her before I got her.” 

“ But she may have some money of her owm. 


108 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 9 


and could get herself the extras, after you had pro- 
vided her with the necessaries ; then you would not 
need to wait so long.” 

Here was trouble with a vengeance, and he did 
not know whether to blame it on her perverse co- 
quetry or on the obscurity of his speeches ; for he 
did not believe she would be so forward as to make 
that proposition if she thought, or wished him to 
believe that she thought, he had reference to her- 
self. He had his choice now, — to go over it all 
again, to please her coquettish disposition, or to let 
the obscurity of his proposition conceal his feelings, 
and leave them both free from any claim upon each 
other, leaving her real or pretended ignorance of 
his sentiments towards herself to be used to cover 
his retreat. He chose the latter, and said, — 

‘‘No, Rosy; when I get a wife I shall expect to 
provide both the necessaries and extras.” And 
then made some careless remark upon the horse 
she had been ridings 

But marrying was now even more interesting 
than equestrianship, and she was not willing that 
he should change the subject; so she returned to 
it, with Sarah for a medium of attack. 

“ Sarah will be out here next week, and then 
you will be much happier than you are now,” she 
said, expecting to be contradicted. 

“Yes, very much,’' he replied. 

“Well, she ought to feel complimented, when I 
shall tell her how unhesitatingly you have confessed 
it,” she said, evidently disappointed by his answer. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 


109 


You always liked her so much better than me; 
for she has not so many faults, and can be more 
entertaining, besides.’* 

Yes, a good deal,” he replied, without knowing 
what she was saying, he was so much occupied 
wuth his own bitter reflections. 

‘‘Well, you are very much in love, indeed ! She 
has everything you admire in a woman, even that 
constancy which I am so sadly deflcient in, and she 
is not half such a heartless flirt as you think I am,” 
she added, looking into his face with aftectionate 
interest. 

“ No, Sarah is very fine ; there are but few like 
her,” he said, still looking up the hill. 

“ Well, indeed ! I never heard so many ungallant 
speeches from your lips before ! What has come 
over you, Bob? You used to be so nice and com- 
plimentary to me !*’ she exclaimed, at the same 
time trying to laugh, but failing, she was so pro- 
voked at his acquiescence. 

Robert was wholly unconscious of the meaning 
of the words he had heard and uttered ; but had 
he had his wits about him he could not have 
chosen words to bring her around more eflfectu- 
ally ; and without more attempts to rally him, she 
dropped Sarah, as a tool that cut both ways. 

The conversation then became friendly and con- 
fidential, without alluding to what had been said ; 
and like brother and sister they walked along, 
sharing each other’s thoughts and hopes on almost 
every subject that interested them. 

10 


110 


TF.4>S^ SHE ENGAGED? 


They wandered up the steep paths they had so 
often before climbed in search of prospects, making 
each other happy as friends, and enjoying a respite 
from the twitting and badinage of their gayer 
moods. 

Once or twice she had forgotten herself, and 
seemed to betray her knowledge of his love and ot 
her acceptance of his proposition, once so openly 
and yet so unconsciously that he could have clasped 
her to his heart for joy at his success. 

They were talking of what was really essential 
to a happy life, when Robert, with more romance 
than consistency, fell from an income of five thou- 
sand a year (the sum he thought necessary half an 
hour before to get the necessaries and extras’’) to 
a hut upon those heights, where news of famines 
and failures, or wars and rumors of wars, would 
never disturb him. 

^^IsTo, indeed! You are too active and ambitious 
to enjoy such an ignoble rest as that, even with me, 
and summer all the year round; you could not 
be contented,” she exclaimed, with her natural 
energy. 

He turned to thank her for so much candor, and 
to assure her that if he could wish for more it was 
because he would want it for her and not for him- 
self, when a boyish voice, which had apparently 
been lately exercised in the recitation of his lesson 
on natural philosophy, cried, — 

‘^ITow, then, velocity versus gravitation I” 

They were standing near a rocky eminence, and 


Tr^>S' SHE ENGAGED? 


Ill 


as the words were shouted, a stone as large as a 
good-sized teacup was hurled over the brow by an 
unseen hand. 

As Eobert turned around it struck him on the 
thigh, and with a groan he fell to the ground. The 
boy followed it to the edge of the rock, to witness 
the result of his scientific experiment, but when he 
saw what had happened, he ran away as fast as he 
could ; probably not suspecting how much damage 
he had done, and fearing pursuit. 

Eobert attempted to arise, but finding the bone 
broken, he told Eosamond how seriously he was 
hurt. 

‘‘What can I do for you, Eobert?’' she cried, in 
anguish, as she saw the veins swell on his fore- 
head, through his efi^brts to appear calm, under 
the excruciating pain. 

“ Nothing, Eosy, only to ask the boy who threw 
the stone to run for assistance, — it is as little as he 
can do; and stay with me yourself, for you are 
better than a thousand ‘ pain-killers,’ ” he said, not 
forgetting in his sufferings the joy she had given 
him a moment before. 

She looked around for the author of the acci- 
dent, but failing to discover him she said she would 
go herself. 

As there was no other way of getting it he was 
obliged to consent, and she left him on the ground 
and ran down the hillside as fast as its steepness 
would allow her. The poor sufferer tried to keep 
his mind away from his pains by following her with 


112 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


his eyes as her lithe limbs bore her away with the 
grace and swiftness of a leveret, and he even com- 
forted himself with the thought of being nursed 
by her while laid up. 

“ She knows what I meant, and she understands 
that it is her wealth and my poverty that compel 
me to postpone a more explicit declaration,” he 
soliloquized, as she was finally lost to his view 
in the valley; and having once considered her as 
his future wife, he resolutely set his teeth on every 
fault he knew she had. 

The fears he had were that, as they held difibrent 
views on nearly every subject, they were not suita- 
ble to each other; that having from their earliest 
acquaintance allowed themselves to use all their 
wits, skill, and powers to oppose, overmatch, and 
circumvent each other, the force of habit would 
not let them live in peace ; and that as he always 
thought a woman with a Christian heart and tem- 
per the only one he could consistently take to his 
bosom, Rosamond would be out of place there. 

It had been a long and hard-fought battle, but 
love in the end had the victory, and his scruples, 
resolutions, reasonings, and resistances lay dead 
now on the ground beside him. Alas, a man in 
love is more to be pitied than one with his thigh 
broken, even ! 


CHAPTER VIIL 


There was one person who had figured a good 
deal in my misunderstandings with Sarah, but as 
it was before the time of the opening of the story, 
I have had no occasion for mentioning his name 
before this. It was Dr. Leander Boynton, a gentle- 
man of fortune and leisure, who resided in the 
country or town, as suited him ; had studied medi- 
cine, and practiced or forgot it, as he felt inclined, 
and rejoiced in the luxury of having no one’s in- 
clinations to consult besides his own. 

As his country possessions were near those of 
Sarah’s father, she and he were well acquainted 
with each other, though she had always, with her 
own intellectual attainments, looked upon him as 
a plaything to amuse herself with, or cast away 
from her, as suited her mood. He was her cat’s-paw 
when she wished to punish me with jealousy; and 
she would go to lengths with him that her self- 
respect would not let her attempt if he had been a 
better man — intellectually. When she wished to 
justify herself, she would say that he was a ^‘foolish 
fellow,” whom she had knowja for years before she 
had seen me, and therefore he could be treated 
any way with perfect safety and immunity. 

He was the nearest, and in fact the only availa- 
ble, surgeon who could be found when Robert was 
10 * ( 113 ) 


114 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


borne to the house on a hastily-constructed litter 
by the men who had been called from the fields. 
There are some fops who are disgusting for their 
vanity, but others who are infinitely amusing, and 
Boynton belonged to the latter class, only there 
was nothing amusing in his waiting to make a 
toilet of fifteen minutes’ length after he arrived, 
as if he was going to astonish a ball-room instead 
of to set a fracture. 

He was evidently aware that there were two 
young ladies in the house, having eyed them at a 
distance several times; but as he had come to that 
neighborhood soon after Sarah’s father had won 
the farm, he had not had an opportunity of know- 
ing them. When he had set the bone, which 
had sustained a compound fracture, Lucy and Ro- 
samond met him at the door, and asked him what 
could be done to alleviate the sufterings of the pa- 
tient; and he replied, “Nothing but to remain 
near him, and keep him amused.” 

He meant Robert well, and added, that with 
such charming nurses a man ought to be kept 
down as long as possible, and accompanied the 
compliment with a great many bows. 

“ I will write to Mr. Pearson at once to send out 
a respectable surgeon ; Robert ought not to be left 
to the skill of such an impertinent fop !” exclaimed 
Lucy, as soon as the doctor was out of hearing; 
for his compliments were received with still greater 
disfavor than mine were the first night I went with 
Robert to see her. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


115 


‘‘Why, Luce, the man’s professional skill ought 
not to be condemned because he knows how hand- 
some he is, or because he can make polite speeches,” 
cried Eosamond, who was laughing in her sleeve 
all the time he had been making his adieus. 

But his professional skill was at once condemned, 
and Lucy wrote to me about the accident, and 
asked me to dispatch a good surgeon to them. 

I had not been out to see them up to this time, 
but had heard from Eobert every week, and was 
kept well informed in anything which could in- 
terest me. 

As I wished to avoid Sarah, and was informed 
when she was expected, I made arrangements for 
visiting a few weeks later. Eobert, who thought 
I had recovered my misplaced affections, and was 
rapidly transferring them to Lucy, suggested that 
the best time for my visit would be when Sarah was 
there, as she would, in a great measure, increase 
my opportunities by giving Lucy time to walk out. 

Though I acknowledged he was right, 1 did not 
intend to profit by his suggestions, for I was in no 
hurry to lay siege to Lucy’s heart, — it was in safe 
keeping by her father’s couch; and, like a winter- 
apple, would become more mellow and enduring 
for hanging long on the parent stem. Then, again, 
I was almost certain Lucy would never get married 
as long as her father needed her undivided atten- 
tion. Such a thought as grieving the selfishness 
of aged infirmity by any step which would lead 
him to fear an abatement of her care, would be 


116 WAS SHE ENGAGED f 

treason to the opinion I had formed of her dutiful 
and self-denying spirit. It would be time enough 
for me to exert myself when the present tenor of 
her life became changed by the recovery or death 
of her father, or the appearance of a rival in the 
field ; and, to be candid, I was not yet prepared to 
say that I could fall in love again. I never ex- 
pected or wished to become as infatuated as I had 
been as Sarah’s lover; for, when the fountain of 
love, like a bottle of wine, is first opened, the pent- 
up fermentation of twenty years sends out a good 
deal of foam and bluster, though the steady, spark- 
ling stream that is poured into the second glass 
may be far more desirable for having thrown off 
its froth. V 

I could have no doubt of being happy with Lucy 
if I thought she loved me, and I loved her to begin 
with; but Sarah’s miniature, with its exquisite 
beauty and pensiveness, was yet in my possession, 
and against it and the recent change in her deport- 
ment my heart was not yet steeled. 

One day we accidentally met at the angle of two 
streets, and turned in the same direction ; and, as 
friends of the Davenport family, we walked to- 
gether some distance, spoke about them, and won- 
dered whether they would remain on the farm 
through all the year ; and, as we parted again, I 
told her I was not going out to see them until 
after another fortnight. 

Next morning Lucy’s note reached me, and after 
sending the surgeon to them, I made arrange- 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


117 


merits for going out there myself that evening, 
and remaining until the pain and fever of the 
fracture were over. 

As Lucy had suspected, the bone was not prop- 
erly set, and Dr. Boynton’s reputation was not 
established in the family by his awkward perform- 
ance. 

Though I have not given Rosamond a good char- 
acter for sympathy, yet she did what she could for 
Robert, and, between reading and talking, made 
the time less tedious to him than it otherwise would 
have been. I sat up at night with him, and, with 
Rosamond for a day-nurse, he had no reason for com- 
plaint. As Mr. Davenport was getting strong again, 
he insisted that his daughter should leave him more 
alone, and take some exercise for her own health, 
by becoming my guide through the pleasant walks 
in the neighborhood. With her I took many a long 
walk, and her good sense, delicate perception of 
what was sublime and beautiful in nature and sen- 
timent, made her company as dear to both hope 
and memory as a holiday was in boyhood. But 
there was one charm about her that made her con- 
versation and company like an angel’s to me, — I 
could believe every word she said, and this was 
much when at that time I had not a perfect confi- 
fidence in the veracity of womankind. Sarah was 
not strictly a liar, and I had never known Rosa- 
mond to tell a falsehood, though she acted many; 
but yet I could not believe everything they said, 
— my mind had become so skeptical ; and, in 


118 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


making allowances for human nature, my charity 
was almost exhausted by the wide margins given 
to the statements I had heard made by my sister- 
hood. 

But every word Lucy said was received without 
the least discount for exaggeration or artifice; and 
not only were her remarks, statements, and expres- 
sions taken at their face- value in the spirit, but also 
in the letter; for as far as guile was from her heart, 
so far from her lips was the folly of using the ad- 
jectives glorious^ splendid^ elegant^ and georgeous^ until 
they came to signify nothing except a paucity of 
words and ideas. 

Maybe I expatiate too much upon my heroine ; 
but these days when I could believe all I heard 
were the pleasantest of my life ; and were to my 
much-deceived heart a sweet foretaste of the time 
when all liars shall have their portions in the 
burning lake, and only the true will be left. 

Nor was Lucy’s good sense and truthful mind of 
that heavy kind which comes from want of imagi- 
nation, and is only a dull facsimile of wisdom and 
truth : wise like the owl, because of its stupidity, 
and unequivocal like the cuckoo, for having only 
two notes which it can utter. Girls I knew who 
did not talk nonsense, and yet were not wise ; 
who did not utter falsehoods, and could not be 
called truthful, notwithstanding; but were mere 
vapid, leaden negatives, enough to weigh down 
the spirit of any man who attempted to be com- 
pany for them. 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


119 


Lucy, on the contrary, was a most entertaining 
girl when thrown on her own resources; lively, 
witty, and well informed ; with a command of lan- 
guage that never left her at a loss for a word, and 
an elasticity of mind that never left her dull and 
exhausted, but rather gave its buoyant, spiritual 
vitality to every subject which she touched. 

She could not climb the hills as sturdily as Rosa- 
mond could, for she was not so robust; but then 
that was an additional pleasure for me, as it gave 
me the opportunity of assisting her up, and then 
sitting by her side while she rested on the green 
declivity. 

In a few days there was a bloom on her cheeks 
and a brightness in her eyes which defied the art 
of Parisian counterfeiters ; and her father, becom- 
ing proud of her improvement, was the more 
anxious to keep her out, for it never occurred to 
his simple heart that we might full in love. 

One day as we returned from our walk, and 
had crossed the rustic stile into the lawn, a loud 
shout of, — 

^‘Hullo, Sally, here’s your Hed!” welcomed us, 
and the next moment little five-year old Tommy 
Carroll bounded up to me, scratching and climbing 
until he got his arms around my neck. 

Sarah had arrived, and thinking from what I 
had said to her that I would not be here for some 
time yet, she had brought her little brother out 
with her. 

Lucy was surprised when I told her who he was; 


120 


WAS SUB ENGAGED? 


and to partly explain what I meant to clear up 
altogether to her some time, I said, — 

‘‘ Sarah and I are old acquaintances, though if 
we had not met at your house last year we would 
have forgotten each other by this time/’ 

She gave me a look of intelligence, which was, 
no doubt, eye language for ‘‘lawsuit;” because 
that was the only reason for broken friendship that 
her innocent heart could suggest to her. 

I took Tommy away with me, and went around 
the house, that Sarah might not have a knowledge 
of his treason to make her visit unpleasant for both 
him and herself. 

When I visited his sister I was a great favorite 
of the household pet, and generally had some- 
thing in my pocket for him. 

Some one had taught him to say “ Bully for you !” 
and the united efforts of the family could not break 
him from thanking me with those slang words. 

Removing the necessity of his thanks did not 
do, even ; for when I was forbidden to give him 
anything to call for them until he had given in, he 
still said it whenever he saw me, either through 
gratitude for the past, or hope in the future. 

When we had seen Sarah, now he cried, — 

“ Oh, Sister Sally, see me with your Ned ! I 
found him out here! Bully for you, Ned! Bully 
for you ! Bully for you !” 

With a look of dismay, she rushed up to him 
and shook him roughly by the arm, exclaiming, 
angrily,— 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


121 


‘‘You little plague, you! If you call Mr. Pear- 
son Ned, or say bully for you, or ever say that Mr. 
Pearson was at our house, I shall take you straight 
home again. Do you hear me now, sir 

Poor little Tommy did hear, and, what was more 
to the purpose, he understood also ; for even at five 
years of age a boy “ raised by hand” under four or 
five older sisters will have a perception of “ what’s 
in the wind,” especially if, like little “ Pip,’’ he is 
not petted too much. 

As she looked up at me, she said that she had 
not expected to meet me, or she would have left 
the little traitor at home, and I replied, — 

“ He is not the only one you will have to silence, 
for I understand Dr. Boynton is living near by, 
though I have not seen him.” 

“Well, he is not as dangerous as Tommy,” she • 
said, with a look of conscious power. 

At that moment Boynton entered the walk, and 
was met by Lucy on the porch. As we came to- 
wards them he greeted Sarah at once, and would 
have as kindly remembered me, but as Lucy intro 
duced us he caught Sarah’s signal, and the warmth 
of his welcome was reduced to, — 

“Ah, Mr. Pearson, I believe I have heard of you 
often before, sir.” 

“Yes; I am spoken of throughout the country, 
in the press and the pulpit, I believe. ‘We, the 
people of the United States,’ and ‘ Us, miserable 
sinners,’ are the two names I am chiefly known to 
the public b}^,” I replied. 

11 


122 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


They all laughed : Lucy, because she thought I 
had caught up the doctor in one of his flattering 
speeches, and Sarah and the doctor (who now 
understood that I was a stranger), at the turn I had 
given to his salutation. 

He had walked over to see how Robert was several 
times, though he knew that another surgeon had 
been called in ; but, as he had come while I was 
out with Lucy, I had not until this time seen him. 

As he entered the parlor with Sarah and Lucy, 
I turned to Robert’s room, for I was afraid he would 
forget his cue at any moment, and betray how well 
acquainted he was with me. 

Rosamond was with Robert, and, as I entered, 
she expressed a hope that I had enjoyed my walk, 
and then, as I assured her that I had, a fear that 
between my vigils and my long walks .up the 
mountains with Lucy I would succumb to nature, 
and become a patient too. 

I saw by the quizzical light that played in her 
eyes that she and Robert had been speculating on 
my feelings towards Lucy, and, to turn the attack 
upon themselves, I said that the danger was not as 
great as the temptation would be, if I could be 
assured of having a book read to me with her de- 
votedness. 

“ If no one else had a better right, you may be 
assured that I would do it,” she said, with a frank 
smile. 

Yes, you may be certain she would, Yed; the 
trouble is that she is such an impartial, obliging 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


123 


girl, a fellow cannot flatter himself she is doing 
anything for him which she would not do for any 
one else under the same circumstances,’' cried 
Robert. 

I do not think that Robert was jealous by nature, 
and, least of all, that he could be jealous of Rr. 
Boynton ; but Rosamond delighted in the fellow’s 
conceit, and encouraged him to believe he was 
making an impression whenever he called. 

He looked as if he thought every glance pene- 
trated my simple heart,” she said once, at the close 
of his visit ; ‘‘ and it did me good to see the side 
glance he took of his whiskers as he passed by the 
mantel-glass.” 

But, however much she had encouraged his calls 
and his compliments before Sarah came, she did 
not waste much time bandying pleasantries with 
him for awhile afterwards, for she suspected that 
Sarah had designs on Robert’s heart, and she evi- 
dently intended to refuse her consent to his mar- 
riage with that girl before it was asked. 

Sarah was not long in perceiving that Rosamond 
had anticipated her, if such was her hope, but did 
not seem to enjoy the. air of her old home the less 
for that. 

If she came out on a matrimonial speculation, I 
think Dr. Boynton was the man most likely to be 
the object of her honorable intentions just then, 
for he had some qualities which a girl of Sarah’s 
wit would not object to, viz., wealth, a want of in- 
tellect that she could easily supply, and a good- 


124 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


natured disposition that would not stand in the 
way of her moods and fancies. 

A spy in the family had informed me before I 
had left the city that Sarah and her stepmother 
had quarreled (the mother of the five younger 
children being her father’s second wife), the old 
lady having accused her of wantonly playing with 
time, and having thrown away her matrimonial 
chances. 

All the admirers she had in reserve had made an 
ungallant retreat the moment they found that she 
was freed from me, and one of themselves might be 
expected to step into my place ; for, however honor- 
able their intentions were, they were not matri- 
monial. 

The doctor was one of her oldest admirers, and 
had often, before I met her, followed her from 
country to town; but he had become more at- 
tached to the country air since I had left the way 
clear for him, and, as is often the case, the pursued 
had turned and become the pursuer. 

Rosamond soon discovered where Sarah’s ob- 
jective point was, and, like an enterprising young 
campaigner, took immediate. steps for her defeat, — 
maybe as much from a desire to test the power of 

Twenty” against Twenty-four” as from the ri- 
valry Providence had, according to her, ordained 
to compensate the human male for the plumage 
and accomplishments denied to him — except by 
right of purchase. 

The doctor found himself suddenly between two 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


125 


sirens, — the happy recipient of both their smiles, — 
and all he wanted was the recognition which Lucy 
withheld to make him the favored of the Three 
Graces. But Lucy would not bow, and, Haraan- 
like, his pain at Mordecai’s contempt outweighed 
his pleasure at the adoration of the others ; so he 
was relieved from the embarrassment of choosing 
from between more than two of the cousins. 

As has been the case on many a more sanguinary 
field, the energy and ardor of youth soon triumphed 
over the strategy and experience of age ; for, in a 
few days, Sarah gave up the contest, and calmly 
resigned herself to the benevolent duty of sharing 
Lucy’s cares as nurse and housekeeper. 

This left Lucy free every afternoon to go out 
with me, while Sarah read to Mr. Davenport ; for 
though he protested against keeping either of 
them at home, Sarah would find some good excuse 
for not being able to accompany us. Her consider- 
ate goodness had made us more confidential, and 
one or two mornings I accompanied her in the 
walks she took with Tommy. 

Perhaps Lucy thought Sarah’s motives for not 
driving out with us wel*e too suggestive of a court- 
ship ; for sometimes she would refuse to go unless 
Sarah took a similar recreation, and then Sarah 
would consent, but, when the time came, would 
feign a headache, and send us off without her. 

Though Lucy did not suspect this fraud, it was 
well known to me; for I learned that her head- 
aches left her the moment we were out of sight, 
11 * 


126 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and she read to Mr. Davenport nearly all the time 
we were absent. But all her kindness could not 
get me along faster with Lucy than the lapidist 
cuts into a diamond. We were as happy together 
as friends could be, but nothing that approached 
love-making in its usual forms had yet been at- 
tempted. I was at a loss how to attempt it, and 
my only hope was that we would some time under- 
stand each other without the embarrassment of 
courting. 

After a time Robert no longer needed my assist- 
ance and watching, and I bade them all, including 
Sarah, a reluctant adieu, bringing away with me 
convictions of Lucy’s matchless loveliness of char- 
acter, purity of spirit, and beauty of mind. 


CHAPTER IX. 


In about a week after I had returned to the city 
the junior who usually attended to the mail cried 
out, as he came into the counting-room one morn- 
ing— 

‘‘ Here’s a letter from ‘Rustic S.’ again ; I haven’t 
seen one of them for a year.” 

All Sarah’s letters used to come to the office-box, 
and, being uniformly marked with the initial S, 
formed by twisting a sprouting bough, they re- 
ceived the title of “the Rustic S. letters” from the 
youthful wit who handed them to me. 

I cut the envelope open, but seeing that it con- 
tained several sheets, I put them into my pocket for 
a more convenient season. 

The time arrived at last when I could read them 
without interruption, and this was Sarah’s story: 

“My DEAR BUT INJURED Friend, — I am afraid 
the time is past when a letter from me would be 
acceptable, and more especially do I regret it when 
I am forced to confess that I alone am to blame for 
it. Xo one who pretends to possess the instincts 
of politeness or humanity can think without regret 
that a fellow-creature feels wronged or misused by 
him, particularly when conscience is on the side of 
the offended ; and, as this is my case, the time has 

( 127 ) 


128 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


come when I can no longer defer asking yonr for- 
giveness. 

I did not do it lately, when you were near, be- 
cause I could not extemporize words to say ex- 
actly what I wanted, and no more ; and because 
your gallantry would not listen to all I would say 
in condemnation of my past life. 

‘‘ Since you and I were friends, as the term goes, 
I have become another creature; and, as God has 
forgiven a life of wickedness and rebellion against 
Himself, I am sure you will forgive the few sins I 
have committed against you. But, dear friend, 
while I mourn for the words and actions which have 
separated us by so wide a gulf, do not think that I 
seek to restore the relations once existing between 
us ; for it is my faults in allowing them to exist that 
I confess, and not the breaking of them off, though 
I wish less violent and unkind measures had been used in 
doing it And while, in obedience to the divine 
command, which tells us to confess our sins if we 
want to be forgiven, I send you the following pages, 
I must request you, before I proceed with this con- 
fession, to neither seek an interview with me nor 
address to me any acknowledgment of them. 

I will be assured of your forgiveness without 
it, for I know what a good Christian heart you had 
to exchange for the miserably wicked thing I had 
when I met you. 

^^And here I must begin my confession, for I had 
no heart of any kind, as far as affection was con- 
cerned, when I accepted yours. I never loved you^ 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


129 


and I blush for the dishonesty which permitted me 
to pretend that I returned your honorable and sin- 
cere attachment. If I sought an excuse for a sin 
that I bitterly repent, it would be that I did not 
tliink you were deceived in me to a great extent. 
Your frank reproofs assured me that you saw I was 
no angel, and you had a mentor at your side who 
was not backward in prompting you. You never 
told me that you had a confidant, but I knew you 
had ; and though I did not pretend to be without 
faults, yet I wanted the man that loved me to be 
blind to them, and deaf also when a third party enu- 
merated and exposed them for purposes of his own. 

‘‘ This accounts for the vacillation, fickleness, 
and uncertainty of temper you so often with just 
cause charged upon me. 

“ Robert Ileberton and myself had been friends 
from early youth, and when Mr. Davenport and 
my father had become estranged by a lawsuit, our 
friendship was not interrupted, as my uncle and his 
household supposed. He visited me (privily, I 
afterwards learned), and continued to pay me the 
attentions which I had with pleasure received from 
him at his guardian’s house, where I spent most of 
my time with my cousins. 

We were finally engaged, but as he was too 
young in his profession to think of a speedy mar- 
riage, we kept it a secret, and agreed to act before 
others as if we had no claim on each other more 
than friends. This agreement was understood to 
allow me to receive attentions from other suitors, 


130 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


as if I was free ; but when our plan was reduced 
to practice, he became so insufferably jealous and 
intolerant of a look or word from any one but him- 
self that we quarreled, and our engagement was 
broken oft*, a few weeks before my father died. 

‘‘ I soon lost trace of him ; but a few months 
after you and I were betrothed I was visiting my 
maternal grandmother, and she engaged an artist 
to paint my picture. 

‘‘You can judge my surprise when Robert was 
introduced to me; but pride came to my support, 
and, greeting him as an acquaintance, I determined 
to sit as long and as often as was necessary. 

“ For awhile we were more reserved than if we 
had been total strangers, but gradually our embar- 
rassment wore itself out, and we conversed on the 
pleasures and people of our previous acquaintance, 

“ He soon showed signs of returning to his former 
fealty, and, to prevent a misunderstanding, I told 
him that I was engaged to you ; for I saw your hand- 
writing in a letter he accidentally drew out one 
day, and made him confess the writer’s name. 

“ This had not the effect I had hoped for, how- 
ever; he became angry because I had not pre- 
served for him the place in my heart which he had 
so voluntarily resigned, and boasted how much 
truer he was to his vows of eternal constancy; for 
such vows had often been exchanged. 

“As he immediately apologized, and seemed 
sorry for having spoken so imprudently, not to say 
rudely, his speech made the deeper impression, and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


131 


I readily forgave the insult offered by thus address- 
ing the affianced of another ; for you know how 
hard it is to blame a person for loving you, even 
when there is selfishness and impropriety in that 
love. 

After that he said no more in a serious way, but 
often rallied me on being bound to another, and 
insinuated, while gallantly complimenting me, how 
sensible he was of his loss, and what might have 
been^ had I not placed a barrier between us, with 
greater haste than romance allowed. 

“ The meeting left an impression that I could not 
eftace from my heart, and I discovered that I was 
only pleased with your character and conversation 
without loving you. I long tried to conquer it, but 
it was in vain ; I was unhappy all the time, and you 
helped the insidious poison by betraying in your 
frankness a knowledge of my vacillating and dis- 
satisfied nature. 

If you had only been blind to my failings and 
a slave to your passion, I could have borne all ; but 
you were neither, and I tried to forget my disap- 
pointments by fiirting with others, quarreling with 
you, and gaining for myself a reputation for heart- 
lessness that is far from being satisfactory to me. 
You are not the one to betray confidence, my 
friend, not even when so ill requited as you have 
been by me ; and I will confess to you that when I 
broke off our engagement it was with full assur- 
ance of heart that Robert Heberton would renew 
his engagement with me, as his words, and also his 


132 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


letters (one of whicli I inclose), led me to hope he 
would. 

“ And again (to you in confidence), when I made 
Kosy Hey wood’s return to Mr. Davenport’s an ex- 
cuse for calling there, it was because I thought that 
you and Robert were no longer friends, and he 
could not be aware that you and I had separated. 

I was surprised to find you were a visitor there, 
but more surprised to find how indififerent Robert 
was to the fact that I was free ; and now the end is 
at hand, for Robert is engaged to Miss Heywood. 

“ When I saw his duplicity repaid by your kind- 
ness and care in nursing him, I said it was my duty 
to inform you of everything when he no longer 
needed your aid. And now, as he is getting well, 
you know all ! 

“One closing request, in addition to the one I 
have already made, and I am done : ‘ Forgive us 
our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass 
against us’ is the prayer that I have but lately 
learned to know the meaning of; but you have 
learned it long ago, my friend, and I am not only 
sure that you will forgive me, but also Robert. 
Lay this letter aside for two months, and do not 
seek Robert or write to him during that time, and 
then you will be calm enough to review the whole 
thing, if you like. Do not return Robert any 
letters he may write to you before that time, as I 
will be here for some weeks yet, and you know 
how embarrassing it would make my intercourse 
with him ; for it is desirable that we all should 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


138 


meet in harmony for my uncle’s and Lucy’s sake. 
Good-by forever, and Heaven bless you ! 

‘‘ Sarah.” 

When I had ended reading it, the perspiration 
was standing in large beads on my forehead, and I 
was almost deprived of the power of walking to a 
seat, for I had read it while standing up against a 
bale of goods. 

Poor, injured Sarah ! how I felt for her then ! 
The misfortune, the sorrow, the repentance were 
hers, but the sin and the blame Eobert’s and mine ! 

She had never loved me, and I liked her now 
the better for that ; she had a heart that loved too 
well for her happiness, and I did not believe that 
of her before. I must have wearied her almost 
beyond human endurance; for how dull and dis- 
tasteful must the expressions of love be to one 
whose heart is given to another than the speaker ! 
I was surprised that she could have borne it so 
long, and it was a wonder I did not make myself 
forever obnoxious before she threw oft* the yoke 
which must have been so galling to her. 

This accounted for the picture of her I had 
found in Kobert’s possession, though I had sup- 
posed that to be accounted for on two occasions 
already ; but it shows how often the truth can be 
told, and yet leave a false impression. 

The letter, which I suppose she sent to certify 
her story, was an obscure composition, just such a 
non-committal note as Robert could write. It spoke 
12 


134 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


of friendship which time could not change or lessen, 
and of faith in the eventual triumph of the first true 
love, though obstacles seemed then to be heaped 
up between them by conspiring fates. The rhap- 
sody was sickening for its unmeaning rant, and 
worthy of the pen and bombast of a high-school 
lover, rather than a young man of Robert’s age 
and intellect. 

Alas, this was the friend I had thought the soul 
of truth and honor, the one of all others before 
whom I had cast the pearls of my heart to be 
trampled under foot ! 

I well remembered the letter to which she had 
reference, for I sent it to him with a letter of in- 
troduction to her when I learned they both were 
sojourning in the same village, hoping that both 
would have a pleasanter visit by becoming ac- 
quainted. But he returned it to me with a show 
of thankfulness, and not only declined every ofler 
I had afterwards made of introducing him, but 
tried to undermine my confidence in her by sar- 
castic generalities, his knowledge of her character 
often enabling him to surprise me by the pertinence 
of his philippics. 

There were no bounds to my indignation, for 
the more I thought of it the greater dupe I became 
in my own eyes; and the feeling that a man has 
been a fool, and others have seen his simplicity and 
taken advantage of it, is not a pleasant one. 

And Sarah, who had been more misused than I, 
how meekly she bore it all ! Six of the best years 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


135 


of her life wasted between a knave and a fool, and 
yet she could forgive ! She had indeed become 
changed, when she could confess her errors to me, 
and meet the wretch who was the cause of them 
every day as a friend. 

As the gratification of seeking her or writing 
had been forbidden to me, I could do nothing but 
praise her newly-found Christian spirit, and hope 
that the Friend of the Fatherless would be her 
protector. 

She was, no doubt, afraid I might think she was 
desirous of renewing our engagement if she did 
not peremptorily forbid me to address her; but I 
would never have suspected that; she had helped 
me to be in Lucy’s society enough to shield her 
from suspicion, and how could I hope that she 
could love me now, when she had confessed that I 
had never been loved by her ? 

For one week my mind was wholly occupied 
with this bitter experience ; every book or writing 
I looked over conveyed the black crime of treachery 
to my mind ; everything else seemed but a dream, 
and this was the one great reality that haunted me 
in business, in society, and in sleep. The hum of 
voices had treason and deceit in it, the streets were 
filled with faces that reflected the malice and guile 
of the human heart, and I spoke to my most inti- 
mate acquaintances as guardedly as if I knew they 
were plotting my hurt, and every word they drew 
from me would be at some future time used as an 
instrument to torture me with. 


136 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


They are all treacherous, every one is treacher- 
ous, everything is treacherous !’' I would say, as I 
walked through the crowds and viewed men with 
the grim satisfaction of knowing them to be knaves, 
and myself the only one among them who could 
hold up his face and say it was not a double one. 

I avoided my friends, I gave myself up to mor- 
bid meditations, and I brooded over my miseries 
until I felt a satisfaction in having them for 
mine. 

At the end of two weeks a letter addressed in 
Robert’s handwriting was handed to me ; but as 
Sarah’s commands were dear to me, I laid it away, 
instead of returning it to him with the contempt I 
felt for the character of the writer. 

As he did not suspect how well I had learned to 
know him, I thought it would inform me of Lucy’s 
feelings towards me if I opened it ; but even Lucy 
could be nothing to me after this. I had been evi- 
dently introduced to her by her unscrupulous 
friend in hopes that my mind would be diverted 
from Sarah; and, however innocent she was, to 
follow the destiny he had plotted for me was out 
of the question. Marrying for friendship does not 
seem a hard sacrifice when a person has been dis- 
appointed once or twice in love, and sometimes I 
thought, with a martyr-like resignation, that it 
would be the best thing that Sarah and I could do 
now, since all things had conspired to make the 
dream of love a delusion to us both. 

A fortnight afterwards another letter from him 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


137 


was handed to me, which was laid aside with its 
fellow ; four days afterwards another, and in four 
days more a fourth. 

The last two were addressed to different places, 
with a request written on the corner of each en- 
velope to forward if I was not at home. Still, I did 
not open them, as I intended to return them all as 
soon as the two months’ grace Sarah had asked for 
were fulfilled. I naturally supposed that some un- 
usual events were transpiring on the farm, — Rosa- 
mond getting married to Robert or the doctor; Mr. 
Davenport dead, or on the point of death; or, maybe, 
Lucy discovered, and already half-won by some 
fortunate neighbor. 

As I had promised, when returning to town, to 
go back to them soon and take a real vacation, I 
flattered myself that they were inquiring among 
themselves why I was not coming out, and won- 
dering why Robert’s letters were not answered. 

Does Lucy miss me ?” was asked in my mind 
repeatedly, but never answered; for, though with 
my late information I had taught myself to look 
upon her henceforth as a stranger, I was not pre- 
pared to be in so short a time as though 1 never had 
beeUy to her pure and innocent heart. 

Some one who pretends to understand the female 
sex (and all pretend to it except those who know 
them best), says that it is better to offend a woman 
than let her have no cause to remember you at all, 
as your chances of winning an interest in her heart 
will be better in the end; and I was willing at 
12 * 


138 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


present to let Lucy have my unaccountable absence 
as a subject for thought; because my last words 
to her were assurances of a speedy return, and a 
resumption of our walks and drives. 

Rosamond would rally her upon scaring me 
away; for it would be impossible for that irre- 
pressible girl to neglect so good an opportunity of 
twitting any one she cared for ; and this would set 
Lucy to reviewing all that had passed between us 
with thoughtful and distrustful scrutiny. 

1 would have taken my summer vacation and 
gone home to forget my sorrows; but female rela- 
tives have sharp eyes, and I could not escape those 
of my mother and sisters. They were acquainted 
with the virtues and talents I had praised in my 
friend, and he would be the first person they would 
ask of ; and I could not bear to tell them how mis- 
taken I had been. They would not be so charita- 
bly disposed towards Sarah ; for they did not seem 
to appreciate her at any time, and were glad when 
I was free from her. Her cold self-possession had 
not made a good impression on them, and Robert 
had their everlasting gratitude when I told them 
how steadily he had refused to be introduced to 
her, and yet was prejudiced as themselves against 
her. 

I was glad that he did not know of this, as he 
would undoubtedly have laughed at their simplicity, 
as he did at mine, while he was playing such a deep- 
laid game. 

I was thus compelled to live in my own company, 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


139 


and very gloomy company it was during those days. 
I could almost hate myself for my inconstancy in 
regretting the loss of both Sarah and Lucy at the 
same time, and I could welcome my woes and dis- 
appointments if Robert had not been the cause of 
them. 

I was so constantly and deeply impressed with 
my folly and imbecility that groans would escape 
my lips as I walked along the streets, and people 
would turn and look at me as if they thought I was 
suddenly taken with cramps or colic ; so that mor- 
tification in public was added to my private woes, 
and only for the horror human nature has of losing 
its identity, I would willingly exchange persons, 
past, present, and future, with the smallest boot- 
black I met on the sidewalks. 


CHAPTER X. 


Lettees had ceased coming, and I began to get 
impatient, anxious, and curious, knowing that there 
had been some unusual excitement on the farm, but 
not knowing whether it was all over now, or what 
it had been. 

I took the tempting but forbidden messengers in 
my hands several times each day, as if expecting 
the news would sprout through ; but I did not 
break a seal. At last the writer himself arrived 
in a hack, and limped with a cane as he stepped 
out of it. He was driven to my boarding-house as 
I was going to tea ; and, like the Bedouin, I felt it 
my duty to offer him my hospitality, even though 
I should waylay and kill him afterwards. 

As I offered him my unwilling hand, he impa- 
tiently exclaimed, — 

‘‘What in the name of common sense has kept 
you from answering my letters ? Did you not get 
them ?” 

“Y es, and have kept them as good as new for 
you ; and you shall have them as soon as you get 
up to my room,” I answered, sulkily. 

He looked vexed and surprised, and said, — 

“ Well, you appear to take things very calmly! 
I suppose you were not at all interested in what I 
wrote you ?” 

( 140 ) 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


141 


‘‘ What did you write that should interest me, 
pray ?” 

Didn’t you read my letters V he asked. 

‘‘ No, not one of them ; they are all kept invio- 
late for you,” I doggedly answered. 

‘‘Well! what under the heavens has bewitched 
you ? Not opened my letters ; and not acquainted 
with what has been transpiring the last four or five 
weeks, — not knowing how much yourself was con- 
cerned 1” he cried. 

“What has transpired in which I am so deeply 
concerned, please ?” I asked. 

“ Oh, nothing, except that Sarah has blackened 
you pretty well, stole a march on us all, and in- 
veigled Mr. Davenport into marrying her,’’ he said, 
with contemptuous carelessness. 

“Blackened me, and married Mr. Davenport! 
what do you mean ?” I cried. 

“ That Sarah has been playing a very deep game, 
sending Lucy out with you and afterwards telling 
her father that she was about to desert him and 
elope with you. Why, the arch-fiend is not deeper 
or more deceitful ; and you have helped her to de- 
ceive Mr. Davenport by keeping away, notwith- 
standing all my efforts to get you out there to 
explain.” 

I was thunderstruck, for the whole plot flashed 
upon me in an instant; and I said, more in justifica- 
tion of my credulity than as an article of faith, after 
this proof that her penitence and confession were false 
from first to last, and only made to deceive me, — 


142 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


Why, how can Sarah be guilty of such a crime 
against truth and honor if she is a converted 
Christian girl, as she says she is?’’ 

Did she tell you she was a converted Christian^ 
and did you believe her, Ned ?” he asked, with a 
look of ineffable scorn. 

‘‘ Yes; and is there anything impossible in that? 
Could not God convert her ?” I asked, trying to 
justify the act of grace as a possibility rather than 
as a fact. 

Yes, I suppose God could, if he pleased; but 
Satan leads her now by the right hand. There never 
was such a cunning devil. Why, it seems she im- 
posed upon you by talking about conversion and 
Christianity, because you had faith in God if you 
had none in herself, and she knew you would be 
thrown off* your guard by such a story of grace. 
Oh ! she would doubtless be an angel if she had 
not been predestinated to be a something else ! Yes, 
indeed ; transforming herself into an angel of light 
that she might the more easily deceive !” 

I had by this time got all the letters in my 
hand, and I gave him Sarah’s letter to read, while 
I hurriedly tore open the four it had laid em- 
bargo on. 

From them I learned how the plot had pro- 
gressed, for Robert wrote me in the most earnest 
terms to come out as he had detected it at its dif- 
ferent stages, but could not leave his room to come 
to me in person. 

Robert read Sarah’s letter very attentively, and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


143 


said, while he glanced over it a second time, as if 
counting the pages, — 

“Well, there is nothing so remarkable about 
that, unless that it is partly truth, always except- 
ing the penitential part ; for I believe there is as 
much hope for the repentance of Lucifer as for 
Sarah’s; and when she has counterfeited the cur- 
rency of grace to pay the Devil with, the gentleman 
in black may well tremble for his reputation. 

“She had quarreled with her stepmother, and 
had resolved to leave the house, and instead of 
seeking me, who had no house to give her, I think 
she came to Mr. Davenport’s only for the purpose 
of following Dr. Boynton out to the farm. 

“ She made a friend of you by the many ways she 
contrived to send Lucy off along with you; but, 
taking her place by Mr. Davenport’s side, she took 
care, with her usual tact, to serve her own ends too. 

“The doctor would not be caught, and she next 
turned to Mr. Davenport as the only one available 
who had a home to shelter her, and she succeeded 
better. 

“ While you were out there she contented herself 
by saying occasionally that you and Lucy were 
growing quite fond of each other, and that she did 
not partake of your recreations because she liked 
the duties of nurse ; but when you came away she 
ventured further, and poisoned his mind by insin- 
uating that he must expect to be deserted by his 
daughter for a husband. 

“ He heard her with so much confidence and 


144 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


credulity she was encouraged to become more posi- 
tive, and unfolded to him a plot between you and 
Lucy to elope, and come back to ask his forgive- 
ness when it would be too late for him to plead 
his infirmities and his need of her society. 

‘‘ She pleaded in extenuation how natural it was 
that Lucy should be tired of nursing and seclusion, 
and become infatuated with the hopes of a new 
and exciting life with you ; and said that the mar- 
riage was to take place without his sanction, be- 
cause you thought he was too selfish to consent to it. 
This aroused him thoroughly, and he determined 
rather than be the cause of an elopement, or the 
obstacle in the way of his daughter’s welfare, to 
relieve her of the duty of nursing him. 

He was so convinced of being regarded as a hin- 
derance to her settlement in life, and of her deter- 
mination to marry without showing him the respect 
due to a guardian even, that he almost became de- 
ranged, and gave her no opportunity of exculpating 
herself; but rather rejected every office she tried 
to perform, until her heart was almost broken by 
his morose and repulsive bearing towards her. 

alone knew what had made the mischief, be- 
cause he reproached me one day for having ever 
introduced you into the family; but all the assur- 
ances I could give him of the groundlessness of 
his fears did not avail, for no one but yourself or 
Lucy could deny it, and he forbade me to mention 
it to either Lucy or Rosamond. 

‘‘You did not come out in response to my re- 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


145 


peated solicitations, and your absence led him to 
suppose you were making preparations for the 
elopement, which made him hasten his own mar- 
riage to prevent it. 

IIow he could ask the niece of his wife to marry 
him is a mystery, but I suppose Sarah had in- 
formed him that she would not let him be uncared 
for, and he saw no other way to leave Lucy free to 
marry and permanently supply her place. 

Though I had a week’s notice of it, the contem- 
plated marriage was not announced to the girls 
until one hour before it took place, and they were 
merely summoned to witness it, with as little cere- 
mony as if subpoenaed to a court. 

The grief of Lucy and the indignation of Rosa- 
mond was as violent as their astonishment was 
complete, and they have not become reconciled to 
it yet, though the married couple are now oft* on 
the mockery of a wedding tour. Resentment must 
have made Mr. Davenport strong, and I hope he 
will remain so long enough to find out what an old 
fool Sarah has made of him, and pay her for it.’’ 

“ Yes, indeed, she has made an old fool, and a 
young one, too. Oh, can I feel my humiliation as 
I should ? I could have stopped all this if I had 
been bright and reasonable enough to consider how 
incredible her story was,” I exclaimed, penitential 
now when my folly was all paraded before me. 

‘‘Yes, and I could if I had done my duty,” he 
replied; “for I do not think I ought to have left 
Lucy ignorant of what I knew, even at the express 
13 


146 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


command of her father. But with regard to this 
letter. I can tell you in a few words what truth 
there is in it, for there is some truth very cleverly 
woven into it : she was born a romancer. I did not 
cease to visit her when the lawsuit divided the fam- 
ilies, for, without being capable of feeling a passion 
herself, she could inspire one you well know. One 
evening as I was placing a ring on her finger with 
a wish, I playfully tried it on the right fore one, tell- 
ing her that if I could get it on that one once she 
would be virtually engaged to me, and nothing 
could save her. 

She calmly replied that she was in no danger, 
because the ring was too small for that finger, and 
that I knew it. 

‘‘I got her consent to try to force the ring on, 
and her promise to be my mine if I succeeded; 
and evening after evening, as we sat by the grate, 
I tried to get the ring over the joint, more for 
the boyish delight of holding her handsome, well- 
shaped hand than with a hope of success. 

‘‘At last a strategy occurred to me, and I bought 
a cheap plated ring, a size larger than hers, but 
like it in appearance ; and, with a thought only for 
fun, I took it with me the next evening I visited 
her. 

“As we sat by the fire chatting as usual, I took 
her ring off*, and slyly substituted the plated ring 
for it, while she was showing me a new book of 
engravings. 

“ ‘ Well, Sarah, I suppose it is a standing bargain 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


147 


that if I get this ring on your engagement finger 
you will marry me V I said, with aftected careless- 
ness. 

‘‘1 had, however, without intending it, empha- 
sized Hhis;’ and, noticing it, she looked up from 
her plates, eyed the ring a few seconds, but, without 
seeming to detect the fraud, she calmly said ‘Yes,’ 
and then turned her attention to her pictures. In 
a moment I pushed it over the second joint, and, 
dropping her hand, I clasped her head to my heart, 
crying,— 

“ ‘ My bride ! my bride ! I have won you !’ 

“ Calmly begging me not to disarrange her hair, 
she took the ring from her finger, weighed it care- 
fully in her hand, and requested me to give her 
back her own ring, as it was much finer gold. 

“ I was allowed, however, to conduct myself as 
her betrothed when no one was present; but I was 
no more than a ‘ boy’ when an older beau was 
available. 

“ The joke about the ring soon became stale, and 
we both dropped allusion to it, and, as other beaux 
came into the field, I kept out of their way, and 
finally ceased to visit her altogether. There was no 
quarrel or ill feelings ; but, hearing Mr. Daven- 
port express himself very strongly against her 
family, 1 thought it was no better than deceiving 
him to visit the house. 

“It was then I wrote that letter, which, you 
can see, looks somewhat yellow, with the date re- 
cently inked, as she has changed the 3 into an 8, 


148 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and made its date five years later. You may decide 
for yourself whether she was engaged to me or not, 
for it does not now signify, — neither of us can have 
her. 

‘‘After I had ceased visiting her I did not see her 
again until I met her when employed by her grand- 
mother to paint her picture. 

“She had nothing to do but fiirt with country 
beaux then, which she pronounced the dullest fun 
in creation ; and she tried how far her old blandish- 
ments had power over me yet. I told her she was 
engaged, but she denied it; whereupon I produced 
your letter and silenced her. Since then you have 
often entertained me with her perfections ; but I 
did not tell you all I knew about her, as I thought 
you would gradually learn to know her real charac- 
ter, and would be better satisfied with what you 
found out for yourself. We both see her in a new 
role now ; the witty and fascinating belle has retired 
in disgust, and become a patient, secluded nurse.’^ 

“ Well, what shall we do now, Robert ? or do you 
refuse to do anything in connection with such a 
senseless dupe as I have become V I asked, as he 
had ended his story. 

“ I do not know what we can do, Ifed ; they are 
married, and that cannot be helped, though it could 
have been helped once, if I was only able to come 
to town, or you had opened my letters,'’ he re- 
turned. 

“I can see Mr. Davenport the moment he comes 
back, and clear myself and Lucy, and let him know 


WAS SHU ENGAGED 9 


149 


by what means his wife kept me away, while she 
slandered me to him,’’ I said. 

'‘No use in that, Ned, — she is Sarah no longer; 
and you will only make both Lucy and her father 
miserable by telling the one how much he has been 
bamboozled, and-the other how readily her father 
gave ear to the foul story of a home-seeker,” he said. 

“Well, what then? what do you propose? for 
something must be done to clear up all this. Why, 
is it right that she should be enjoying the success 
of her treachery, and Lucy and I should still be 
suftering the unjust suspicions she has cast on our 
characters ?” I cried, dropping into a chair. 

“You cannot prevent her from enjoying her suc- 
cess, such as it is; she has a home, and Mr. Daven- 
port could not turn her out of it, even if he knew 
all ; and as for you and Lucy, that matter will mend 
itself, for her father will soon see that there was no 
intention of leaving him, and will merely think 
Sarah was mistaken. Except in a case of treachery, 
like taking her away without his consent, I have 
no doubt he would be glad to look upon you as 
Lucy’s future protector ; and I know, if this came 
to her ears, she would never forget that her father’s 
heart was turned from her by the thought that she 
was to be married to you,” he replied. 

This had some intluence with me; for, almost 
simultaneously with my discovery of Sarah’s du- 
plicity, my recent feelings towards Lucy returned, 
and, though the knowledge of our joint implica- 
tion in the elopement plot made her dearer to me, 
13 * 


150 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


I knew that her sensitive mind would be differently 
affected by it. 

Robert remained with me that night ; and, as 
next day was to be celebrated as Rosamond’s 
twenty-first birthday, he was the bearer of an in- 
vitation for me to go out and celebrate it with 
them. This placed me in a delicate situation, for 
I could not refuse to go without offending her; 
and, at the same time, if I visited there during 
Mr. Davenport’s absence, after having remained 
away while Sarah was weaving her net so skillfully 
around him, he would certainly hear of it, and it 
would accord too well with what he had heard be- 
fore. We debated the question between us all the 
evening, and finally decided to take the risk of 
bringing the matter to an issue, and expose as much 
of Sarah’s mendacity as would justify myself, and 
give me the privilege of seeing Lucy with the same 
freedom that I had enjoyed the time I was out there 
last. Robert was of opinion that Mr. Davenport 
would never know how much his wife had deceived 
him, but would merely think, after he had discov- 
ered his suspicions were unfounded, that she had 
been misinformed, or, at most, had been over- 
officious in the affair. 

The couple expected to be away two weeks, and 
had left the girls so overcome with surprise that they 
were glad of the opportunity their absence gave 
them to interchange thought freely, and determine 
what had been the cause of the marriage, and what 
was their duty in regard to it. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


151 


Soon after tea that evening, Robert put a fifty- 
dollar bill into my hand, and asked me to go out 
to a jewelry store and invest it in a pearl ring for 
Rosamond’s birthday-present. 

I knew, of course, that choosing an engagement- 
ring was what the lover himself would like to do ; 
and, going to a store in which a friend of mine was 
salesman, I got a dozen of the most stylish, and 
took them to Robert, that he might make the se- 
lection himself. 

During the season he was laid up by his accident 
Rosamond had been good to him, and had not ob- 
jected, at any time, to be considered as his be- 
trothed, though nothing more had been said to 
remove the ambiguity of their relations to each other. 

And now, when he was making her a birthday- 
present, he took the measure of her forefinger, and 
selected a ring for it which she would at once rec- 
ognize as the seal of their betrothal ; and, by ac- 
cepting, give a tacit consent. 

I will not deny my own foolishness in that I was 
sorely tempted to get a like one for Lucy, though 
on speculation, as I had not the same assurance 
Robert had that it would ever come in use. 

We left the city early in the morning, and before 
noon arrived at the farm, where a flag had been 
hoisted to the turret of the house by the fair mis- 
tress, in honor of the day. 

But though the fluttering of the stars and stripes 
outside betokened a merry occasion, inside the girls 
looked sad and disheartened enough. 


152 


WAS SHU ENGAGED f 


The subject that occupied their thoughts could 
not be suppressed long; and soon after the first 
greetings were exchanged, Kosamond told me of 
their amazement when called to witness the cere- 
mony, and their inability to account for its necessity. 

She declared, with a doleful countenance, that it 
would be unreasonable of Mr. Davenport to expect 
her and Lucy to yield to Sarah the obedience and 
respect due to a mother ; that she would be in the 
house all the time, assuming matronly airs, and, 
maybe, would talk of sending them to a seminary 
to finish their education. 

As this was said by one who was her own mis- 
tress, and the owner of the house besides, it is 
probable that her dislike to the domineering dis- 
position of Sarah was greater than her fears of 
being interfered with in her own rights, and Lucy 
intimated that much. 

‘^Assuredly, I do not fear for myself, for she 
knows I am not meek or submissive enough to be 
imposed upon ; but it is for you, my dove-eyed 
Luce, that my sympathies and fears are aroused ; 
and if I was you, I would never give her a civil 
word or myself a day's rest until I found by what 
means she has usurped your place in your father’s 
heart; for we all know that she has prejudiced his 
mind against you, and he has scarcely spoken to 
you for a month," she exclaimed. 

Rosamond doubtless thought I was more inti- 
mate with the family affairs than Lucy did, for she 
appeared mortified by hearing the lamentable fact 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


153 


mentioned in my presence, and she replied, while 
unwilling tears attested how keenly she felt the 
slight his sudden and unnecessary marriage in- 
flicted upon her, — 

’ ‘‘No, Rosy, my father is justified by everything 
but the necessity in doing what he has done. No 
one can deny that he had a right, legally and 
morally, to marry her ; and though I am selfish 
and self-willed enough to wish it otherwise, he 
shall never, by a word or look of mine, have cause 
to regret that he has done so.” 

“ Yes, that is just what I thought; you will sub- 
mit, and become second fiddle in the family discord! 
I tell you I would be the first, and make their ears 
tingle if they tried to push me out of my position 
as lady of the house; for your father, by the wrong 
he has done you, has forfeited all claims to your 
love and obedience !” she exclaimed. 

“Oh, Rosy, how wildly you talk! My father 
has done me no wrong, I repeat, for I am not his 
wife that I should feel injured by his marrying 
another. I am as much bound as I ever was to 
honor and obey him, and I cannot complain if his 
wife will be more in his love and confidence than I ; 
she would be wronged if she was not,” Lucy re- 
plied. 

“Well, let us have a picnic this afternoon, or do 
something to make Mr. Pearson’s visit more pleasant 
to him; for all I can say is that it is well for Mrs. 
Davenport she has not me for a daughter instead 
of you, as I would let her see that she could not 


154 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


take the inside track of me with impunity, or keep it 
without a struggle that she would find both arduous 
and long. Your father has injured you by marry- 
ing; for he has taken another in between you and 
himself, not only to divide with you, but also to 
supplant you in that which your relationship to 
him and your devotedness to him had given you 
an exclusive right to enjoy and inherit,” she said, 
leaving the room to make some programme for the 
afternoon. 

She was doubtless right in saying it was well for 
Mrs. Davenport she was not her daughter in Lucy’s 
stead; for she was too jealous of her rights and 
privileges to tolerate a rival, and especially in Sarah, 
who had not been a generous rival to her when four 
years’ seniority was more to her advantage than it 
was considered now. 

But Lucy had more to complain of than she ac- 
knowledged then. 

Since her mother’s death she had been more like 
a companion than a child to her father, reading to 
him, conversing with him, and nursing him, until 
there had been an equality of mind established 
between them that entered into all their plans, dis- 
cussions, and agreements. 

Three years before, in one of those conversations 
which usually followed the reading of a book, a 
compact was made between them that neither 
should get married without the other’s consent; 
and finally, that neither should get married while 
the other lived, so that nothing could ever come 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


155 


between them. It was doubtless proposed by Lucy 
in reply to some remarks her father had made on 
the biography she had been reading; for it was a 
most unequal chance they, were exchanging, as the 
probability of any one marrying a bedridden old 
man was not great, while Lucy was entering into 
her eighteenth year, with hope and life before her. 

It was afterwards alluded to as a standing agree- 
ment when any subject of discussion called it to 
mind, and Lucy felt bound by it with the sincerity 
and enthusiasm of youth. Her father's marriage 
seemed *a violation of this compact, but she did not 
then speak of it to any one. 

Rosamond returned soon, saying she had forgot- 
ten Robert when she thought of the picnic, and 
asked if croquet instead would be agreeable to the 
party, as she could place a chair on the ground for 
Robert to rest on while waiting for his turn to play. 

When all had agreed, she enthusiastically said, — 
like to play croquet so very much because 
one can have partners in it, and that destroys the 
selfishness of the battle. Though you knock your 
adversaries away, and disarrange their positions, 
yet it is because you have some one else besides 
yourself to consider. You have your partner to 
get into position and put through an arch, just as 
you would help a friend through the straits, or to 
the honors of life ; and, however much superior as 
a player, and able to go ahead to the stake yourself, 
you cannot win by deserting your partner, and 
leaving him behind to his adversaries.’’ 


156 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


In that case yon had better take me for a part- 
ner, Miss Rosy ; for you will have opportunity to 
your heart’s content of knocking me into position 
and through the arches, as I am a miserable 
player ; and you will in that way exercise those 
generous qualities which I know you have, to make 
life happy, useful, and successful,’’ I said, forgetting 
for the moment that Lucy was my prospective 
partner, and that Robert with his crutch, and soli- 
taire pearl in his vest-pocket, was most entitled to 
Rosamond’s assistance. 

Her face brightened up, just as I saw it on one 
occasion before when I had paid her a similar com- 
pliment; and selecting her favorite colored ball 
and mallet, which was the blue, she exclaimed, — 

“ You shall be my partner, then, for you are the 
only one that has ever given me credit for having 
any good qualities !” 

She stood by me faithfully through victory and 
defeat, playing back to me whenever she had 
passed through an arch, and side by side we went 
out or were left behind in each game, our balls 
never more than one arch apart. 

Late in the afternoon, while she and Robert 
were disputing whether a rover had or had not a 
right to a ball each time he played, whether it had 
made an arch since he played on it last or not, a 
carriage drove in between the mulberry-trees, and 
we all turned to view it; for except Dr. Boyn- 
ton’s yellow-striped gig no other strange vehicle 
had been driven in there that summer. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


157 


Soon Lucy exclaimed it was her father, who 
had been doubtless taken sick, and was compelled 
to return ; and she ran down the avenue to meet 
him, forgetful of the enstrangement that had kept 
him from ‘‘scarcely speaking to her for a month,'’ 
as Rosamond had said. 

The croquet-party was broken up, and Rosamond 
had now “positions” and “arches” to assist Lucy 
through and maintain against her wily adversary. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Mr. Davenport had not proceeded more than 
a day’s journey with his ‘‘young and accomplished 
bride” when their “tour” was terminated as Lucy 
had predicted ; and after remaining a few days at 
a hotel, they returned to the farm. 

As his wife’s love for him was not of that 
quality which the poet describes, — 

f A love devoid of guile and sin, 

A love forever kind and pure, 

A love to suffer and endure, — 

Unalterably firm and great. 

Amid the angry storms of fate, — 

Forever young, forever new. 

Forever passionate and true,” — 

her mortification at being compelled to forego 
their trip, and, ere the first week of her married 
life was passed, come back and settle down to the 
work she had hired herself to do, was great indeed. 

Though a bridal tour is a powerful inducement 
to most maids, yet it may be asked what pleasure 
or pride could a girl of Sarah’s caliber take in 
going about with a sick old man, to be laughed to 
scorn by all who saw them, and criticised for 
having sold herself, wherever she went. 

But, my dear reader, many a young wife of an 
old man has enjoyed herself while playing the 
( 158 ) 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


159 


^‘bear-leader” during her honeymoon, and after- 
wards, by simply thinking that every young beau 
she met thought she was the old man’s daughter, 
and therefore eligible to his admiration. 

Sarah was denied even this brief pleasure, and 
had no more opportunities to look forward to ; for 
of all the sales of youth and beauty made to Mam- 
mon, she had made the most unprofitable one. 

This was not the dream her youthful mind had 
hoped to realize when she was seventeen or eigh- 
teen, and it was not the position and pride she had 
hoped to obtain by her marriage when she was 
surrounded by a dozen of gallants, each competing 
with the others for her brightest glances. 

But if she was ever romantic enough to have 
dreams, they were over now; and who can say, 
when looking back and comparing the promises 
Hope had made to their youth with the poor re- 
turns Life afterwards yielded, that themselves were 
not to blame for departing from the truth and 
purity which inspired hope, and gave the future a 
rose-color atmosphere? Ho one, I think; for the 
youthful heart, in beating high with hopes of future 
success and greatness, never thinks of fraud and 
deceit as the means of attaining these: truth, 
honor, and merit only are associated in the mind 
with the realization of glory and happiness. 

The moment Lucy met them she threw herself 
into her father’s arms, and at first her tender em- 
braces were returned ; but, recollecting the unfilial 
desertion she had contemplated, he checked him- 


160 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


self, and requested that she would not an^e^ him 
with demonstrations of affection, which ha ^ • 
been too burdensome to her. 

‘‘My affection too burdensome to me, father?’’ 
’ she cried, but was interrupted by Mrs. Davenport, 
who gently took her hand and led her away, say- 
iiig — 

“Lucy, my love, his temper is ruffled by pain 
and fatigue, and you must not feel hurt at his 
words. He has made me almost jealous by his 
frequent and tender mention of you while we were 
away, and you should for that reason be able to 
overlook a hasty expression now.” 

“Yes, but what does he mean by an expression 
like that? He would not have uttered it, even 
through irritation, if it had not been in his mind 
ready to be charged against me,” she said, looking 
with suspicion on her stepmother. 

“ifothing, dear, — he means nothing at all; he 
did not know the meaning of his words, and very 
likely he forgets them already,” was her affection- 
ate and conciliating reply, for she had no enmity 
toward Lucy; but now when her object was se- 
cured, was quite willing that Mr. Davenport’s af- 
fection should be shared both by herself and her 
daughter-in-law, in order that the nursing could be 
divided also, for it was not much to her taste. 
Lucy tried to think she was right in saying the 
words were hastily spoken and as quickly forgotten ; 
but Rosamond had awakened suspicion in her un- 
suspecting breast, and though this was the first 


IFAS SHE ENGAGED i 


161 


time father had said anything to betray the 
caus^ ol his alienation, she could not help thinking 
it was due to Sarah’s undermining and misrepre- 
sentations. She looked earnestly at her, therefore, 
and said, with pathos^oubly impressive by her own 
innocence, — 

‘‘ Sarah, why has my father become so changed 
towards me since you came here, and tell me what 
was his object in marrying you?” 

‘‘Well, what a hard question you ask me, child !” 
she said, looking a surprise she could scarcely have 
felt. “ Old men have often before to-day taken a 
notion to marrying young wives, and nobody has 
attempted to explain, or asked them to explain so 
hard a metaphysical problem; but I suspect it was 
to get me to help you to nurse him, — not a very 
flattering thought, but it is given to you in true 
afiection and confidence. 

“For my own motives in marrying I could account 
more confidently, but, as they were scarcely more 
romantic, it is better to be silent with regard to 
them. But you are surely mistaken in thinking 
that he has changed through my influence or 
agency ; and is it not your jealousy that makes you 
imagine it? You know it is called the ‘green- 
eyed monster,’ and it has made you so sensitive 
that you wrong him with suspicion whenever his 
pain makes him a little impatient or neglectful.” 

She touched the right chord; for Lucy could 
submit to suspicion or wrong herself rather than 
wrong or suspect another, as, in the first case, she 
14 * 


162 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


would have the consolation of knowing herself to 
be innocent; but, in the other, there were doubts 
of her own justice and generosity. 

^‘Forgive me, if I have wronged you, Sarah/’ 
she said, laying a hand on her shoulder, and call- 
ing her again by the name she had used in happier 
times. Some one is mistaken, and I hope and 
trust it is I. I wish I had the courage to go 
to him and speak plainly on the subject, as I do 
to you, for I cannot endure this suspense much 
longer.” 

If you had^ you would both grieve and surprise 
him, Lucy ; for if you will analyze your feelings, 
you will find that it is ‘ not that he loves you less, 
but that he loves me more,’ you are really com- 
plaining of ; and, as his wife, I think I have a right 
to more love than when I visited you as your 
cousin,” she said, with a look of gentle reproach. 

Skillfully as the words of the doughty Roman 
were adapted, they were suggestive of crime and 
treachery to Lucy’s mind ; and, resuming her look 
of suspicion and reserve, she said, — 

‘‘ Excuse my petulance and candor, Mrs. Daven- 
port.” And then withdrew from the room. 

Sarah’s meek eyes followed her, with the faintest 
smile breaking the serenity of her red, gentle lips, — 
a smile of triumph or derision, it might have been, 
for aught it expressed ; for, ambiguous even in her 
smiles, her face, yet plump and fair, concealed 
thoughts as well as its muscles, under its calm, 
smooth surface. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 7 


163 


She returned to her husband, who was resting 
on a lounge, and said, in a compassionate way, that 
Lucy had been hurt by being repulsed, and he re- 
plied, — 

‘‘Yes, I fear I have been too harsh with her; I 
have not been considerate enough of her feelings ; 
and, unaccustomed to unkindness from me, it may 
goad her to an extremity I would be guilty of 
equally with herself.” 

“Yes, I think it would be better to say nothing 
to wound her, or betray a knowledge or disappro- 
bation of her designs,” his spouse dutifully as- 
sented. 

It was painful and humiliating to the father to 
hear even his wife speak of his daughter in con- 
nection with reprehensible and dark designs, and 
he groaned out, — 

“ Oh, that a child so pure in heart should fall into 
the temptation of having thoughts even that I dare 
not confess to all the world with pride, but rather 
must appear ignorant of them lest I should only 
hasten their transition into actions 

Ho reply was made, for Eobert entered, limping 
with the aid of his crutch, and was followed by 
Eosarnond, who had remained back to bid me a 
good-by, as I returned to the railway station in 
the vehicle which brought Mr. and Mrs. Daven- 
port from it; and was excused in my hasty retreat 
by her, for saying that frankness and truth could 
not let me make any professions suitable to the 
occasion. 


1G4 


WAS SUE ENGAGED? 


There was a defiant civility in the greeting of 
the cousins, which was more in accordance with 
their feelings than their words; for Sarah was 
aware of being repugnant to Rosamond, and, true 
to human nature, she felt more disposed to defy 
than to conciliate her, however she felt towards 
the others. 

And though drafted into that class termed “ old 
women” by her marriage, and therefore no longer 
a rival, according to Rosamond’s thinking, yet 
she had offended first by coming into the family, 
and next by marrying at all, since Rosamond 
had kindly prophesied an old maid’s life for her, 
and felt injured because her prophecy came to 
naught. 

These feelings were characteristic of the way- 
ward girl, vindictive to those who crossed her, 
disliking with or without a cause, and devoted and 
partial to those whom she looked upon as her 
friends or was interested in. 

She turned to Mr. Davenport and asked him 
where Lucy was, while Robert was expressing his 
sympathy in his blandest tones with the bride, 
because she had been compelled to return so soon 
instead of continuing her travels. 

She has gone to her room, I believe. Rosy, and 
I wish you would find her, and say to her that if I 
have spoken unkindly she must forgive me ; our 
life is too short and uncertain to be embittered by 
unkindness,” Mr. Davenport replied, sadly. 

Ilere was an opportunity for Rosamond to serve 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


165 


friend and foe, according to her desire, and she 
improved it by saying, — 

‘‘Lucy has suffered much lately, uncle, because 
she imagined your feelings were changed towards 
her, and your manner cold and harsh without any 
known cause ; and though she has not made me 
her messenger in the matter, I take the liberty, 
for which affection for you both must be excuse, 
of mentioning it to you. If she is not in error in 
regard to your feelings there is a great misunder- 
standing somewhere, and I trust you will authorize 
me to say to her that it is with herself the trouble 
and error exist.’' 

She bent over him, and ended her speech with a 
few kisses, like one accustomed to carry her point 
by some means. 

“ Go, my child, and do as I first requested you ; 
she may be guilty of a great mistake^ but I can 
never wish my daughter less than I have ever 
since the hour I first saw her,’^ he said, with stub- 
born dignity and an air of offended authority, 
which gave the words an unsatisfactory import to 
the intercessor. 

“Then I must convey your words only to her, 
uncle, if I would bring her consolation, for you 
speak them as if extending rather than asking for- 
giveness,” was her bold reply; and seeing that her 
words were not taken unkindly, she added, — 

“ As you say, there is a great mistake somewhere; 
but since she does not mistake your feelings to- 
wards her, it lies farther back; for she could not be 


166 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


guilty of a thought, word, or act that would merit 
your displeasure or need your forgiveness.’^ She 
spoke with pathetic earnestness, and her speech 
seemed pregnant with meaning to the deluded 
father; but the step which completed the aliena- 
tion had been taken, and when it was too late to 
retreat, he closed his heart against convictions. 

The winning and solicitous expression which 
accompanied her words was changed for a wicked 
and contemptuous one the moment Rosamond 
left the room, and she stamped upon the matting 
in the hall as she denounced the male portion of 
humanity as born to be dupes, and worthy only 
of contempt for their simplicity. 

Well, what is the use of trying to set people 
right when they will be wrong? He is an old 
dotard, and if Sarah can get any good out of him 
I do not blame her much for using him. The pre- 
fix mistress has an air of respectability about it, 
even if a woman gets it by fraud. People do not 
inquire by what means a woman became some old 
fool’s wife, but how much she has got by it. And 
then ‘ Somebody’s Wife’ looks so proper on a 
tombstone ; the sentimental reader will associate 
more charms in his mind with it than if it had 
been ‘ Somebody’s Daughter’ and she had been as 
beautiful as an houri,” was her charitable soliloquy 
as she went slowly up-stairs. 

She pushed the door of Lucy’s chamber open and 
stepped lightly into it, where she saw the poor girl 
kneeling against her bed with her face buried in it. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


167 


‘‘She will be more calm when she gets up/* 
Rosamond solemnly thought, as she softly stole to a 
seat and picked up a book, for she respected in 
Lucy many sentiments and traits of character she 
did not understand. 

When anything troubled her own mind, she 
either tried to banish it from her thoughts, or 
fostered it with the strength and intensity of her 
feelings ; but she nevertheless believed that Lucy 
had a better way, though without any pretense or 
desire to be partaker in it. Lucy’s piety and prac- 
tice had Rosamond’s fullest respect and approval, 
and she turned her eyes away from witnessing the 
scene before her, rather because she knew Lucy 
would not wish to be seen than that it was dis- 
tasteful to herself. 

She read nearly an hour before Lucy looked up, 
and then, seeing her slightly confused upon find- 
ing that she had not been alone, Rosamond said, 
apologetically, — 

“ I have not been here long, Lucy. I came to 
find you at your father’s request, and to say to 
you that he is sorry for his hasty speech when he 
spoke to you down-stairs.” 

Lucy’s face blushed brightly, and she cried, — 

“ Has he said so ? What were his words, Rosy ? 
Please tell me ! Tell me all he said !” 

“ He merely said that he was sorry for his rough 
way of expressing his affection, in these words,” 
said the candid girl, repeating the precise words 
and tone for Lucy’s benefit. 


168 


JFAS SHE ENGAGED f 


There is not much consolation in that, as I had 
nothing to forgive ; it is no crime to express his 
feelings ; and, since the feelings are still there, I 
am no better off by his sorrow for having betrayed 
them,’’ she replied. 

Rosamond was not a good comforter, being re- 
sentful and independent; and she replied, — 

‘‘ Why, certainly the feelings are there, or else 
he would not have them to betray. Have I not 
told you that several times before to-day? and, 
what is worse still, Sarah Carroll has put them 
there by some sleight-of-hand, or how would she 
become his wife and mistress of the house other- 
wise ? Take my advice, Lucy, and ask your father 
in such a decided manner that he cannot refuse to 
listen, why he has thought it necessary to get mar- 
ried ; premising your speech by telling him that you 
wish to say something that may not be agreeable 
to him to listen to, but which, nevertheless, cannot 
be left unsaid. That will rivet his attention, and 
keep him from silencing you by a plea of indispo- 
sition ; and my word for it, he will tell you, for he 
is not fool enough to talk of love at his age. If he 
refuses, insist, and tell him that unless you know 
the cause of his injustice to you, and see it reme- 
died right speedily, you will not live under his 
roof.” 

Oh, Rosy, you are too violent ! How could I 
address such words to my father, or dictate so 
arrogantly to him? You could not urge such a 
course if you had a father to love and respect. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED ? 


169 


Besides, you seem to forget that my father has not 
wronged me by marrying ; it is only an unjust suspi- 
cion of my love for him I can complain of, and 
treating him as you advise would only justify those 
same suspicions.” 

^‘Well, it is all the same; his suspicions of your 
love and his marriage with Sarah are hand-in-glove 
with each other, — the one is a sequence of the 
other ; and it does not signify which term you use 
to begin with. Call it suspicion, if you please, and 
ask him what suspicions induced him to marry a 
^ Becky Sharp,’ scarcely older than yourself; for 
that is the point to which his suspicions have 
drifted him.” 

Lucy was too well convinced that his marriage 
was the result of some intrigue of Sarah’s' to reply 
to her argument, and she mildly said, — 

Well, it is done now, and complaining of it will 
make no one happier. I will try to be the same 
to him that I was always ; and. Cousin Sarah being 
no more, my father’s wife is entitled to my respect 
and assistance; so let us drop the subject. Rosy 
dear, it only makes me feel wretched and rebellious 
to brood over it.” 

Certainly, dear, if you wish ; it is only for you 
I am concerned: for your father’s wife, though a 
new creature, was an acquaintance of mine in a 
pre-existent state, and I think she will not attempt 
to assume a dictatorship over me. No one but a 
man shall do that, and when he comes into power 
15 


170 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


I hope he will make me walk a straight line, or 
mark my steps with my blood 

You do exclaimed Lucy, diverted from her 
own cares by the strength and strangeness of her 
cousin's hopes. 

“I certainly do; for I do not think I would be 
good and obedient of my own accord, and I want 
a husband who will be severe on my foibles, and 
terrify me into duty and obedience with a rod of 
iron.” 

Well, you desire a very odd qualification in a 
husband. I should think, where a woman was 
anxious to be dutiful and decorous, she would find 
love and example greater incentives than cruelty 
and terror,’^ Lucy said, now quite interested in her 
cousin’s ideal. 

“ I would not ; love and tenderness would only 
make me contrary and aggravating ; like the sugar- 
cane, I must be crushed to get the sweetness out 
of me. The first man that asks me shall have me 
now, if he has iron enough in his blood to make 
me quail and quiver when he looks at me,” she 
said, with her usual exaggeration. 

“ You have been doing very well since you came 
back to us, and yet we have not ruled you with an 
iroix rod. You get on very nicely with Robert, and 
he is not an iron -mill to crush you,” said Lucy, 
with a roguish look. 

‘‘No, you are all too good for me, and that is 
why I am spoiling here instead of getting better, 
as I had hoped good associations would make me. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


171 


I am daily in fear of an eruption, for I feel some 
powerful and malignant element within me boiling 
and struggling for vent.” 

That is what the oldest girls used to say in 
Miss French’s school when we went there,” Lucy 
said, laughing merrily. 

Yes, but those precocious chits meant hearts, 
while I mean something more of the nature of old 
^Lucifer, — nitre, bitumen, and brimstone, I suppose, 

‘ or something else that has an infernal element in it.” 

Lucy made no reply, having no knowledge of 
^the elements and impulses her cousin confessed to; 
'^and, after a pause, Eosamond looked cautiously 
towards the door and windows, and said, — 

Luce, what do you think of Eobert and I being 
engaged to each other?” 

‘‘I think it is very natural that you should be; 
, in fact, I know it must be so, you are so much 
together, and your fondness for each other is so 
apparent,” was the candid reply. 

^ ‘‘ Oh, did you know it? Well, then, you allowed 

yourself to fall into an error, for we are not en- 
gaged,” she cried, piqued that Lucy should seem 
to be aware of that which she would not acknowl- 
edge to either Eobert or her own heart. 

Oh, well, I am easily corrected, then. It is be- 
cause you asked what I would think of it that I 
anticipated it, for I would gladly congratulate you 
upon such a happy event.” 

This generous reply had a communicative eflect 
upon Eosamond; and she continued, — 


172 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


‘‘Well, there is a sort of an engagement, an 
understanding, I suppose ; for it is not binding 
upon either, but can be laughed off’ the moment 
either of us becomes tired of the other/’ 

“ That is convenient enough for the most fickle ; 
but I do not think you will want to laugh it off*, as 
you ought not to get tired of Robert, and I know 
he will not of you.” 

“Pshaw! he will be the first to get tired of it; 
one man is as good as another, and one woman is 
a great deal better than another, so I do not expect 
anything more than a short fiirtation to come of it,” 
she said, lightly. 

Lucy looked earnestly at her for a few moments, 
and, either angry at her for making so light of it, 
or else understanding her disposition, she said, with 
some energy, — 

“Well, then, I hope nothing more than a fiirta- 
tion will come of it 1 Robert deserves a woman’s 
whole love, and will be sure to get it if there are 
any true-hearted and deep enough to appreciate 
him I” 

This reproof aroused some jealousy in her heart; 
for when such an assertion is made between women, 
the understanding is that the speaker considers her- 
self the person who could and would appreciate so 
much ; and, though Rosamond had acknowledged 
that Robert was free, she was not willing that he 
should make use of his freedom just then. She 
therefore said, in a petulant tone, — 

“ Why, Luce, if he heard you, he would propose 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


173 


on the spot, without giving you time to move off 
the square of the carpet you stand on, or letting me 
leave the room, though he knows I am no snail in 
my movements.” 

“ I do not think he would be so rash in a serious 
matter, or that the engagement, understanding, or 
whatever term you choose to designate it by, rests 
as lightly on his shoulders as it seems to rest upon 
yours.” 

‘‘ Well, suppose it does not? Can a woman who 
sits at home waiting for proposals to come to her be 
expected to know her own mind and value as well 
as a man who is in the market making the proposals, 
and establishing the price of such wares? I would 
be more cautious than that if only selling a fine cow ; 
and when it is myself I want to dispose of, I ought 
to be anxious to make a good sale. Would it not 
be foolish of a woman to accept or reject a bid un- 
conditionally before she knew whether she was 
otfered enough or not?” she asked. 

‘‘ Rosy, you are heartless ! If I man I 

would feel it my duty both to yourself and to Rob- 
ert to caution him against one who would enter 
into a holy state governed by the views of a cattle- 
dealer,” she cried. 

‘‘You could not tell him more than he is already 
aware of ; for why should not common sense be 
applied to the matrimonial as well as the cattle 
trade ? He may look farther and see one that he 
likes better, and so may I; and then it will be well 
to know that we have no contracts to bind or break; 

15 * 


174 


SEE ENGAGED? 


and, if we should still remain satisfied with each 
other, we can feel more assured of our contentment 
by remembering that we were free at any time to 
make other disposal of our hearts and hands if we 
had been so minded,’* she replied, with some 
animation. 

‘‘ It may be fair and prudent in business to do as 
you say, Ro^;. but you are not so utterly insensi- 
ble to the happiness or misery of thirty or forty 
years of wedded life to enter into it with so little 
real love : a curse would follow you all your days, 
and you could never look back without feeling that 
it had been merited.” 

‘‘Well, thank you, cousin, for your defense of 
me against mj-self. I am not utterly heartless, I 
hope ; but you know we are privileged to say worse 
things of ourselves than we would like others to 
say ; and, since you were bold enough to rebuke 
me, I take it all back. No bids considered by Miss 
Rosy Heywood unless they look to a fair exchange of heart 
for hearty and refusals to be finals whether she gets a 
second offer or not. Hear that, gentlemen, and all 
others whom it may concern, and give attention, 
that- you may understand ! Au revoir^ Luce^ ma 
chere! Our engagement may come to something 
yet !” And she danced out of the room with a 
dozen curtsies. 

There was a want of feeling and sincerity in her 
manner that gave Lucy pain, and when she found 
herself alone again she locked the door to prevent 
another surprise. The tears flowed as freely and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


175 


silently as before; the sorrow caused by her father’s 
words was, for awhile, forgotten, and a fresh grief 
had been aroused by the very person who had come 
to soothe the former one. 

If Robert had been her brother, or if, as she had 
said, she were a man, she might feel it her duty 
to caution him, and could do so without fear of 
being misunderstood ; but, though she did not 
fear that from Robert’s modest and generous 
mind, her maidenly feelings shrank from so deli- 
cate a task. 

Rosamond had received the stimulus to constancy 
that she wished for, but not in the way she had ex- 
pected. Sisterly love, such as Lucy entertained for 
Robert, she could not feel towards any young man 
eligible to matrimony, so long as 'her own hopes 
were not secure on that important matter; and she 
could not credit or appreciate such a feeling in 
Lucy. Had she seen the Tears Lucy was now shed- 
ding over her heartless theory, — of the interchange 
of hearts, — she would have ascribed them to selfish 
feelings ; but she fancied she had seen enough to 
give her an insight of Lucy’s heart, and she deter- 
mined to tighten her hold of Robert, if only for 
the piquancy of rivalry. After the novelty of her 
ambiguous engagement had worn out, it seemed 
too tame and commonplace for her energetic and 
sanguine temperament, and she spent hours de- 
bating the question of her engagement by counting 
the buttons on her wrapper, and saying, ‘‘I am 
engaged ; I am not,” after the manner of school- 


176 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


boys, when determining their future standing in so- 
ciety, by saying, ^‘Rich man, poor man, beggar man, 
thief/’ as they finger the buttons on their jackets. 
Now she was certain that she was engaged to Rob- 
ert ; Lucy had helped to convince her of it, and 
she was glad Lucy knew it. 



CHAPTEE XIL 


Egbert had scarcely recovered strength to walk 
without a cane before he became tired of the 
country life which had promised him so much 
pleasure. Perhaps his confinement had much to 
do with his discontent, for people like to rush from 
one extreme to another; and now, when he could 
walk again, painting and sketching became too in- 
active for him, or had too little of the excitement 
he craved for. 

Several interviews had taken place between us, 
in which the policy of leaving his easel for awhile, 
and entering into mercantile pursuits, was debated. 
The motive was very apparent to me, — he was im- 
patient of waiting to become rich by his pencil, and 
had read in books, dealing more in fiction than in 
fact, that fortunes were often made by a stroke 
of the pen.’' 

Avarice was not one of his sins, or the cause of 
his discontent. The single-minded bachelor Paul 
has said, He that is married careth for the things 
of this world how he may please his wife;” and 
in that saying was the key to Eobert’s worldliness. 

He felt married in spirit, and in want of much 
of this world’s goods to please a worldly wife; for 
the few words he had said to Eosamond while as- 

(in) 


178 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


cending the hill that day had wholly changed his 
wants, his wishes, and his world. He felt now that 
there was a time, and an event, a consummation 
most devoutly to be wished for’’ by himself, and 
due to the girl who had promised to wait for him, 
and that his great duty was to eschew anything that 
would delay it, and embrace every opportunity of 
hastening it. 

Though I admired his talent, and envied the quiet 
life he led with it, I did not discourage the change 
he contemplated ; for I knew he was prompted by a 
desire to fulfill his engagement with Eosamond; 
and the effort would gain him experience, and tend 
to make him contented with his professional earn- 
ings, if it failed to benefit him in aught else. 

After the preliminaries M his new career had 
been settled, he told Rosamond that he intended to 
lay his designs on canvas aside for awhile and turn 
merchant, expecting she would appreciate the sacri- 
fice and say something in commendation of the 
profession which was dear to him. But Rosamond 
did not seem to think that herself was at all con- 
nected with the change, and had no sympathy to 
offer, as she thought it was the result of a change 
in his taste, and a love of adventure; 

In fact, she rejoiced to hear of his better pros- 
pects; for mercantile enterprise was associated 
with success in her ardent mind. His romantic 
profession too tame for Robert, she thought, and 
not half so attractive to herself as speculation and 
traffic. Robert felt hurt because she so lightly 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


179 


esteemed the artist, and would have him exchange 
art for trade, so he said, — 

am going away down to Peru, Rosy; and it 
may be a long time before we see each other again : 
when we do, I hope to be so independent that I 
can pursue painting, and leave mercantile enter- 
prise to those who are better fitted for it. When 
I told Ned that I loaned my spare money to a mer- 
chant of my acquaintance at six per cent., and even 
thought myself accommodated by him in taking 
it from me, he laughed at me, and said the mer- 
chant doubtless made fifty per cent, out of it each 
year, and showed me a way that he thinks I can 
double it in yearly, besides seeing much in my 
travels that will benefit me in after-life.’^ 

Going away down to Peru,” where earthquakes, 
tidal waves, and fevers would endanger his life, 
and dark-eyed houries endanger his heart, did not 
appall Rosamond, or even seem to check her mer- 
cantile enthusiasm for a moment; bartering, buy- 
ing and selling, and getting gain were the only 
advantages she thought of then. 

^‘Oh, if I were a man I should like to do that, 
above all things ! Trading among men, and making 
a handsome profit every time, would suit my specu- 
lative disposition exactly. I would go, too, and be 
in partnership with you, if you would not object to 
the style of Robert Heberton & Co., and we would 
divide our profits every year, and say ^ fifty thou- 
sand apiece’ to each other.” 

If she was not enthusiastic for his genius as a 


180 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


painter, she would be at least for his success as a 
merchant, he thought, and his good humor was 
restored again by the happy conceit of the partner- 
ship ; for it was the very end he was exerting him- 
self to bring about, though in a different sense 
from that which she desired to be understood in — 
a partnership of joys and sorrows. 

We can go into partnership yet, anyhow, — men 
and women often do that, and are sometimes more 
fortunate than two men would be,’’ he said, with 
a significant look. 

Eosamond did not see the look, or notice the am- 
biguity of his words, she was thinking of capital, 
and she said, — 

‘‘Are you in earnest? would it not be too much 
trouble for you to do that ?” 

“Not at all; it would be the greatest pleasure 
of my life to enter into such a partnership with 
you, Eosy dear, circumstances permitting,” he 
said, thinking still of marriage. 

“Would it, though? Well, then, I have two 
thousand dollars idle, and getting me only four per 
cent, in the savings-bank, and you can put them with 
your money, and we shall be partners, Eobert.” 

He was annoyed and mortified to learn that they 
were thinking of different conditions, and his pride 
rebelled against taking some of her money with 
him, though he was fiattered by thinking that the 
generous girl divined his object, and wished to in- 
sure success, and speed the time by increasing his 
capital. But his independence would not admit 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


181 


of such an offer, however flattering the motive, and 
he said, with affectionate earnestness, — 

“ No, Rosy dear, I have all the capital I can, with 
my limited experience, safely invest. Keep your 
two thousand dollars where they are; we can be in 
partnership without them.” 

Oh, no, that would not be fair; I will not take 
a cent of your profits unless you earn it with my 
money, and I should insist, only I fear it would be 
too much trouble for you to bother with it. I have 
spent many an hour devising some plan for making 
it yield me more profit, but I cannot think of any. 
Only about a dollar and a half a week, — barely 
enough to keep some girls in gloves, and I would 
do without it, if I could make a venture of it. You 
have no idea how speculative I am, or how it would 
please me to invest and be a nabob,*' she said, with 
apologetic frankness. 

“You are right; I did not think you were 
troubled with financial schemes, and I would will- 
ingly assist you if I was not afraid of making them 
worse, instead of better, for you,’* he replied, dis- 
pleased at finding her so mercenary, and disposed 
to accommodate her for that reason. 

“ I know there is risk in all ventures, but I am 
not afraid of that, if it will not inconvenience you 
to invest for me when you are investing for your- 
self. I can get the money for you in a day or two,” 
she replied, her countenance brightening at the 
prospect of increased revenues from it. 

“Well, then, we will be in partnership. I will 
16 


182 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


use all my money as the active capital, and yours 
can remain where it is, in reserve, which will in- 
sure its safety,” he said; 

But could you not make so much more profit 
by using mine too, Robert ? — its safety is of little 
consequence, as I could do without the income it 
now yields if it should be lost,” she asked, some- 
what discouraged at the idea of leaving her money 
where it was. 

‘‘Perhaps I could ; but Ned will tell you that all 
the good firms in the city have money secured out- 
side of their active capital, and the firm of ‘ Heb- 
erton & Heywood’ must not be behind them in 
that respect. If there should be profit, which I 
hope there will, you will be entitled to your half ; 
but your two thousand dollars must be left secure, 
if you value my health ; for the fear of losing them 
would not let me eat or sleep,” he returned. 

She laughed, and slightly colored, as if she was 
not insensible to his anxiety, and said, — 

“ But have you no regard for my health ? I may 
not be able to eat or sleep when I know that your 
money is at risk ; and if you do not take my share 
and use it, I will not take any of the profits from 
you. I would be a nice partner, indeed, to share 
your profits but have no part in your losses !” 

“Well, I suppose I can safely promise to let you 
bear your part of the losses also, for I do not see 
how there can be a loss. Ned has made out a list 
of those articles which will pay best, and, not being 
staple products, they are mostly overlooked by 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


183 


greater merchants, and pay double profits, without 
requiring much capital. He is a partner, too, and 
will keep me posted on the markets, and watch for 
my interest in the commission-houses, as he will 
not be known in the transactions at all. He has 
arranged it so that I can invest our united capital 
as often as I have opportunity, will let me know 
what to ship, and see that the produce is held and 
sold at the right time, and then, when I come home, 
I can divide with him.’' 

‘‘ Well, I declare, I am as proud as I am fortu- 
nate in having you for a friend ; you talk like a 
merchant-prince already, and I have no doubt that 
we shall make a fortune between us. ‘ Pearson, 
Heberton & Heywood !’ Whew ! Won’t that be a 
heavy signature ‘on Change,' though?" she ex- 
claimed, laughing until the tears ran down her 
cheeks. 

Though there was nothing like his art to Robert's 
mind, and he resigned it now for a season with re- 
gret, yet he felt pleased that Rosamond should 
think he had the tact of adapting himself so readily 
to circumstances, and he said, with a smile, — 

“I should have felt greatly hurt had I known 
before to-day that the artist was so lightly esteemed ; 
but now since you appreciate me so highly as a 
man of business, and we are really partners, I must 
forgive you, and claim the privilege of writing to 
you as often as I like. What kind of a firm would 
it be if there was not a regular correspondence 
kept up between the home and foreign partners ?’' 


184 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


“ Oh, yes, write to me. Bob ! You shall see what 
a clever business letter I can write you, — ‘ Your 
esteemed favor is at hand; markets firm, stock re- 
duced, quotations same as last, with more inquiry,' 
and so forth.’’ 

This was a privilege Robert would have asked for, 
even without the partnership, for he hoped a sepa- 
ration and an active correspondence would satisfy 
him more with regard to his own feelings as well 
as hers ; for he had too exalted an idea of the holy 
passion to be contented with a mere warmth of 
feeling or interest; and he hoped absence would 
not only try it by removing it from the hotdiouse 
of each other’s society, but also enable both to free 
themselves from the habit of airy badinage, which 
kept in the background the more earnest and ex- 
alted expressions of regard, and left him continu- 
ally dissatisfied with both his feelings and his 
speeches. 

He tried also to believe that Rosamond’s love 
was deeper than her vivacity and coquetry would 
sometimes indicate ; and that, when he was no 
longer at her side, her heart would speak to him, 
instead of making herself appear more mercenary 
and anomalous than she really was, lest his regret, 
interest, and solicitude, no longer being excited by 
her exaggeration, he would take her at her own 
estimation, and think her uiwomanly and fickle. 

You must write me something more than the 
state of the markets. Rosy, or your letters will be 
dull; for Ned can do that better than you can. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


185 


You know that I cannot forget old friends and old 
feelings merely by going a few thousand miles to 
invest a few thousand dollars, so you must tell me 
all about the old house and the family in which we 
both have been treated so kindly; but above all, you 
must speak of yourself and your feelings : let us lay 
aside reserve and deal as truly with each other as 
we hope God will deal with us in this and the next 
world. If we do not deceive each other we will 
have nothing to accuse ourselves of, for we can- 
not help our feelings; and it is only by feigning 
them that we have anything to fear or can chide 
each other for,’' he said, his voice trembling with 
emotion. 

‘‘ I shall be afraid to say much about myself, you 
will see so much to condemn, for you know how 
quick you are to discern faults, Eobert,” she said, 
awed into seriousness by his solemn charge. 

“ If I am, Eosy, let me say this much in extenu- 
ation : I discern faults only where my warmest in- 
terest quickens my sight. Love does not blind me, 
but rather makes me more watchful and solicitous, 
lest I should detect anything in those I love to make 
them less perfect than I would wish to see them ; 
and I am blind to faults and follies only where I 
am too indifferent towards the owner to perceive 
them.” 

“How horrible! What a wretched lover you 
would make I I hope to get a husband who will 
be as blind as a bat, rather than he should see my 
faults, or see me grow old and ngly, and despise 
16 * 


186 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


me,” she cried, thrown back on her sprightly exag- 
geration by the compliment implied in his speech. 

That would be a misfortune, as he could not 
see what a charming bride he would have to begin 
with ; but I have eyes to see that. Rosy, while they 
would never despise you for your imperfections, age, 
or decay. Man and woman grow old together, and 
do not perceive it when they love ; it is the mind 
that really makes us young or aged, and with your 
cheerful disposition I would always think you were 
but your twenty-one,” he said, carried with her 
from seriousness to gallantry. 

A compliment was never lost on Rosamond, and 
while her face put on its warmest glow, her eyes 
shot out a soft light that betrayed the intense sat- 
isfaction she derived from his speech, made as it 
was in full view and recognition of their implicit 
engagement. 

Her gaze was bent full on him for awhile, partly 
in doubt of the sincerity of his words, and partly 
in bashful consciousness of their meaning, while 
he boldly met it with eyes which said, I have said 
it, and will make my word good.” 

There are times when even fickle and unstable 
people can be firm and true, and if fixed by a 
timely word, something they would regard as 
binding and absolute beyond their own weak will, 
they may become martyrs for a principle or a 
sentiment. 

This time might have been Rosamond’s now, and 
her aftections, vacillating and unsettled as they were. 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


187 


might have been unalterably bound had be said 
the right word, something that would strip their 
engagement of its ambiguity and demand from her 
the full measure and meaning of love, by the open 
confession of his own. 

The time was not, however, improved; for 
though his heart heat quickly as he read in her 
face the keen pleasure his words had given her, 
he still preferred to leave her free to wait for him, 
if her heart was strong enough, and if not, liberty 
to accept any one she could love better. It must 
also be confessed that love made him more sensible 
of her imperfections than he even confessed, for 
he really doubted whether a positive engagement 
would be more binding on her than a partial one, 
if she should be tempted by a more favored suitor 
during his absence ; while a broken troth would 
leave a more unpleasant feeling between them, 
should such a thing happen. 

So Robert and Rosamond came no nearer to 
an explicit understanding by their temporary part- 
nership. They were equally shy of the engage- 
ment, though they coquetted around it a good 
deal ; for, distrustful of each other’s feelings, when- 
ever they came to the brink of their Rubicon, in- 
stead of boldly crossing, their timidity overcame 
them, and they called up other objects to cover a 
precipitate retreat. 

Mr. Davenport, his wife, and Lucy furnished 
them topics for feint demonstrations against each 
other whenever the wily pair found themselves 


188 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


forced on to the charge by each recurring allusion 
to their copartnership and the probable results of 
it; and though the life partnership of joys and 
sorrows was often in view, they as often exerted 
themselves to recede from it, as if from a dangerous 
whirlpool. 

With fortune now almost within his grasp (for 
what young adventurer does not see it in his in- 
vestments ?), Eobert looked upon his marriage with 
Eosamond as an event close at hand, and he blamed 
himself, after their interview was over, for not 
making a clean breast of his affection, and a plain 
fact of their fallacious engagement. 

Eosamond, on the contrary, was well satisfied 
with herself for her success in evading the delicate 
point. Eobert had committed himself by words 
and looks more than she could accuse herself of 
doing, and she had the benefit of his open-faced 
candor without any reciprocation. 

The great question was yet before her for de- 
cision, and she went on again in her old way of 
debating it, still saying, with a taper finger on her 
buttons, '‘I am engaged; I am not!’’ 


CHAPTEE XIIL 


As the day of his departure approached, Eobert 
lost much of his self-confidence, and would have 
sold out his expectations at much less than their 
par value, I think; not that he was less anxious 
for th^ trial, but he was more solicitous as to the 
result of it. 

He was leaving his art, which had, at least, af- 
forded him a competency since he had become its 
master, and was venturing what he had saved in 
a forlorn-hope, so far as his experience was con- 
cerned. 

But though Eosamond was the only one of the 
family who knew aught of his designs, yet she 
had kept him up to them by frequent mention of 
their pecuniary prospects, while he was making 
silent preparation for the voyage. She showed so 
much desire to realize more than the eighty dollars 
per annum, he began to fear that he was important 
only as he was useful to her, and he therefore felt 
annoyed at the enthusiasm which had recently en- 
couraged him. 

He was morbidly thinking that his death might 
even be hailed with joy by her could he promise to 
aid her in the spirit-land, when it suddenly occurred 
to him that Eosamond was acting the speculator, 

( 189 ) 


190 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and talking of gain to hide her real feelings. It 
seemed hardly possible that she could place one 
who had always been so friendly and companion- 
able to her in a balance with the profit on two 
thousand dollars, and it would not be unlike her 
to hide her interest in his success, and the event 
which would follow it, by talking of the pecuniary 
results. 

Full of new hopes, he went to Mr. Davenport, 
and told him that he was about to try a mercantile 
career for awhile, and would-, in a few days, sail for 
South America under very encouraging auspices. 

There is something in the adventure and sup- 
posed wealth of the merchant that dazzles even 
genius. The poet, the painter, the statesman, the 
soldier, and the minister of the gospel appear to 
bow alike before the great golden calf, and have 
done so ever since the time Moses was up in the 
mount. His wealth and magnificence has dazzled 
even the children of the sun, and the old tales of 
the East have them for their heroes. 

Antar has no doubt played the sycophant in 
their Arabian palaces as much as “ Sindbad the 
Sailor” does in the ‘‘Arabian Nights,” and the wild 
asses of the desert have brayed in echo as the rich 
caravans crossed the plains from Damascus to Bag- 
dad. 

To be a “ merchant-prince,” and have ships on 
every sea, is of such great importance that the 
preacher of the riches of the kingdom of heaven 
must stop in his sermon to explain that such was 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


191 


the case with some man with whom he had con- 
versed ; and, not having yet seen the inside of a 
counting-house, some boyish heart would leap 
higher and beat faster with commercial emulation 
than when the preacher spoke, with less earnest 
reality, of the golden streets and pearly gates of 
the New Jerusalem. 

Mr. Davenport, artist, philosopher, and invalid 
though he was, was not exempt from this w^eak- 
ness, and he at once dilated upon the great and 
beneficial results of commercial enterprise. “Worlds 
have been discovered, civilization has been ad- 
vanced, and nations have been sustained by it ; the 
winds and the waves have been trained and made 
to serve it, and it is the patron of the arts and the 
sciences,” was the laudatory sentence that followed 
Robert’s communication; but he forgot to add to 
his glowing picture, the butcheries and miseries 
which its avarice and rapacity have carried to Mex- 
ico, Peru, India, and China. The poor man for- 
got for awhile, in his enthusiasm for his new career, 
how much he leaned upon Robert. Cut off from 
fellowship with his felldw-men, he felt Robert’s 
conversation the only relief he had from the mo- 
notony of female society, and he would long ago 
have forgotten that he was a man himself, but 
that Robert had brought him such views and 
thoughts from the world of men as served to recu- 
perate his manhood. 

Sarah was present at the interview, and if she 
had ever been sincere before in her life she was so 


192 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


when she commended Robert’s enterprise and am- 
bition. Leaving out the fact that her father had 
been a merchant, and she appreciated the profits 
of the trade, she could also be sincere because 
Robert was more in Mr. Davenport’s confidence 
than she was, and whenever she could be dis- 
pensed with as a nurse, he turned to him for 
advice and companionship. 

Both wife, and daughter could not have been true 
to him, and knowing himself to be hastening to the 
grave, and fearing he might close a virtuous and 
useful life by an injustice to either, he made Robert 
his counselor. 

Sarah had good reason to fear that her wages 
might be withheld by Robert’s infiuence, and there- 
fore was glad that he was going away. 

As soon as she left them alone for a few moments, 
her husband said to Robert, — 

^‘My time is rapidly approaching its end, my 
dear boy; for I am old beyond my years. With 
Jacob, I can say that ‘the days of the years of my 
life have been few and evil, and I have not yet 
attained unto the days of the years of my fathers 
in their pilgrimage but I have been long since 
laid aside as useless in this active world, and maybe 
before you have entered your new career I shall 
have begun a new and better life.” 

Robert replied that he hoped to find him alive 
and in better health on his return. 

But the old artist hopelessly observed, — 

“No, Robert, hope will not save me, and it 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


193 


will deceive you if you believe in it. My day is 
over, and why should I wish to prolong the night 
of my life ? I have even lived too long ; for had I 
died a year ago I could have left my orphan girl 
to the providence of God as one of His own angels ; 
but now I can only commit her to His mercy and 
compassion.’^ 

‘‘I hope you will not die so soon, sir; but more 
than all, God forbid that you -should die with un- 
just suspicions of Lucy’s duty towards you, what- 
ever your wife may have said.” 

‘‘ I have told you all that I know about it, and I 
do not see why we both should draw different con- 
clusions from the same evidence,” he said, think- 
ing from Robert’s earnest manner that he had 
more reliable information. 

‘‘But I have not told you all that I know about 
it, for I cannot now; but I can say this much, 
sir, no one could retain my friendship for one 
moment after having abused your hospitality, as 
you suspect Mr. Pearson of doing, and yet I am 
as much his friend now as I ever was ; and no one 
would more strongly condemn Lucy’s ingratitude 
and folly in purposing to desert the best and most 
indulgent of fathers; and yet I now tell you, as 
perhaps it may be my last opportunity of speaking 
to you, that I believe she is the truest friend you 
have ; and I shall always love and respect her as 
the worthy child of my best of all earthly friends.” 

As he spoke, his earnestness brought tears into 
the artist’s eyes, whether for joy that there was 
U 


194 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


one to believe in his daughter’s filial care, or sor- 
row that he had wronged her by ever doubting 
its constancy. 

After pausing a moment, he held out his hand 
to Robert, and said, — 

‘‘God be with and prosper you, my dear boy, 
though there is none of my blood in your veins. 
You have always been my pleasure and my pride; 
and, as you still believe Lucy to be what I have 
found her for twenty years, be always a brother 
and a friend to her, and God will bless you for it. 
Her friends and companions are limited to Rosy 
Ileywood and yourself: and even if she had con- 
templated leaving me, I am mostly to blame ; for 
I have denied her the society and pleasures her 
age craves, and selfishly kept her at my side to 
nurse and comfort me ; and now, when I shall go 
the way of all the earth, she will have but few 
friends or acquaintances in the world in conse- 
quence of her seclusion.” 

I have not yet explained how Robert came to be 
Mr. Davenport’s ward ; but there could be no time 
so fitting for it as now, when he is about to leave 
him and the art he learned from him for a dis- 
tant clime and a new calling. 

When Mr. Davenport was a very young artist he 
traveled, as all young artists ought to do, to see 
something of the faces and places beyond his im- 
mediate vicinity. 

Stopping for a few days at a small village, which 
was snugly nestled between two mountains, he 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


195 


plunged into the wilds in search of game every 
morning at sunrise. 

On the third day he met with a young hunter, a 
year or two his junior, and they agreed to unite 
their fortunes for the day and hunt together. When 
they parted that evening they were well pleased 
with their day’s companionship, and proposed to 
meet at the same place and hour on the following 
morning, and continue their hunt and acquaint- 
anceship. 

Their excursions were attended by so much suc- 
cess and pleasure, they were continued day after 
day for over a week. 

One evening, as they were approaching their 
rendezvous, and about to separate there, the frank 
young stranger said to him, — 

I wish you would tell me your name, and come 
home with me. I have been interesting my mother 
and sister with an account of our meetings and ad- 
ventures, and it was only last night when they 
asked me how we could talk so much without 
knowing each other’s names, that I was reminded 
of the gentle Juliet’s words on the insignificance 
of a name. However, as we know the names of 
every tree, beast, and bird we see, it does not 
seem proper that we should be less intimate with 
ourselves ; so I told them that your name was 
Robin Hood, and that I was Little John, and 
promised to bring you home, dead or alive, and 
let them see you.^’ 

The young artist was pleased wfith his compan- 


196 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


ion’s artlessness, but declined his invitation, say 
ing that there was always a romance attached to 
mystery, and by revealing himself he would destroy 
the interest their imagination had surrounded him 
with. 

‘‘Oh, no, you need not fear that; after I have 
told so many things about you, you must come 
with me and substantiate them. We live secluded 
here a few months each j-ear, having no acquaint- 
ance with the people around us; and women are 
so curious, you know, that they must be told about 
everything I see when I go home at night.” And a 
proud toss of his head indicated how conscious he 
was of the superiority of men. 

Before he had decided whether to accompany 
the youth or not, they met his sister, and he was 
introduced to her as “ the unknown ranger of the 
forests.” She had been selecting wild flowers, and 
the artist, with his professional eye for beauty, 
thought he had never before seen so beautiful a 
woman ; but, great as her beauty was, her refined 
manners and unstudied cordiality were still more 
irresistible to him. 

Tossing the flowers into her basket, she prepared 
to accompany them, saying, without the slightest 
appearance of embarrassment, — 

“ My brother Perry has entertained us every 
evening with an account of your daily travels and 
conversations, and we owe much to you for the 
many pleasant titbits of wit and humor he has 
brought home to us. We have made a rule not to 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


197 


use artificial light while we live in the country, and 
therefore Perry’s adventures supply the place of 
hooks in our evening's entertainments, which I 
hope will not make him vain and egotistical, though 
I fear it will, for he already talks as if he was 
dressed in Lincoln-green, and one of the bold 
archers of Sherwood Forest, with you for his chief.” 

This skillful effort to learn his name was suc- 
cessful, and he was in return informed of the names 
of the brother and sister; and then there was a gen- 
eral laugh at the impersonality of the young men, 
who had not discovered their want of names for a 
week. 

They had not proceeded far before they came to 
the house, and as he was about to leave them she 
added her entreaties to her brother's, and said, — 

‘‘ Oh, you must come in and be introduced to 
our mother ! It is seldom we see a stranger here, 
and we must make the most of one when we do;” 
and as ‘‘ must" was the language of her eyes, he 
had neither the inclination nor the power to dis- 
obey them. 

He was evidently the more bashful of the two, 
for there was a frank boldness in her manner 
towards him that convinced him he was regarded 
as a boy like her brother Perry, or in some other 
respect as one that she need not be afraid to make 
free with. 

As he yielded and entered the house, he was 
presented to the mother, who welcomed him with 
matronly kindness, and said she already felt quite 

n* 


198 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


well acquainted with him through her son’s con- 
versations. 

The fowler himself was at last ensnared; Perry’s 
romance, enthusiasm, and impulsiveness, his 
mother’s gentle interest in him, and her communi- 
cative suavity, and her daughter’s bewitching 
beauty, had all conspired to make him a prisoner, 
and for a time all thoughts of moving on” were 
forgotten. 

As he studied and learned the tastes and prefer- 
ences of the peerless beauty, his plans of life and 
labor were rough-hewn anew, and she was encir- 
cled in every dream, hope, and thought of the 
future — the center of every ambition and aspira- 
tion. 

I will say at once that he was in love, but his 
love, from the beginning to the end, had no hope 
in it; it was not the love that is usually successful, 
for it savored too much of adoration ; with the 
feelings she inspired in him he would almost as 
soon have dreamed of marrying an angel. 

Though young and untraveled, he had an intui- 
tive knowledge of human nature, and knew that 
he could not hope for her love as long as she could 
treat him with the same ease and freedom of man- 
ner her brother shared in common with him ; but 
when absent he overcame his extreme reverence 
for her. 

Her diamond eyes were dovelike in the distance, 
and then he could look forward to a time when 
they would no longer awe him, but rather beam on 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


199 


him with soft affection ; for they inspired him with 
too much veneration to allow him to pay any 
marked attentions to her while he was within their 
range. 

One glance of the bright, unflinching optics 
would dry up the fountain of thought he had to 
pour at her feet, and as long as he was near her he 
could not think of a word to say in plea for his 
passion. 

He at last resorted to the more feasible way of 
writing a sonnet to speak for him, and thought it 
would be easy for him to judge what he might 
hope for by watching her countenance as she read 
it. The lines were not preserved, I believe, and 
even if they had been it would not be necessary to 
insert them here ; for all such eflfusions breathe es- 
sentially the same spirit, — ‘‘ lure,’’ “ pure,” ‘‘near,” 
“dear,” “moon,” “boon,” and “never,” “sever” 
flow after each other as naturally as the notes of 
birds in the spring, when the pairing-time makes 
them tuneful. 

He handed them to her, and, with his heart 
firmly braced to bear the consequences of his bold- 
ness, whatever they might be, he anxiously watched 
to mark their eftect. 

He soon saw it, for, with a burst of laughter, 
she cried out, as she thrust them back into his 
hand, — 

“ Come, come, sir ! that will never do ! If you 
would play the gay deceiver you must learn the 
art of duplicity better than that. I am too honest 


200 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


to take the praise which does not belong to me : 
you have written that document for some other 
damsel, I see; for if you will take the trouble to 
look into my eyes you will discover that they are 
of a ‘fast black,’ instead of the ‘changeable 
heavenly blue’ which appears to have robbed you 
of your customary wit and discrimination/’ 

Invited, he looked boldly into her eyes for the 
first time, and not only found them “ black,” as 
she said, but saw in them how little love he could 
hope for when they could read a love ditty so criti- 
cally, and laugh so merrily at his blunder, stupid 
as it was of him. 

A wit, a jester, or a clown feels successful in 
proportion to the laughter he calls from his audi- 
ence ; but the bitterest feeling one so earnest as 
a lover can have, is to know that to please a woman 
he had made himself ridiculous, and she laughed 
at him for his pains. 

The loss of herself was aggravated by the fancied 
loss of her respect; for she was about a year his 
senior, and in maturity of mind several years, 
which made him more sensitive of her ridicule, 
and apprehensive of having earned it. 

His dream of love was over, the first one he had 
had, and he soon discovered that the summer 
was not the time to hunt for game, and took his 
leave of the mountains. 

This beauty was Robert’s mother, and at the 
time Mr. Davenport had seen her first she was 
already the betrothed of another, to whom she was 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


201 


married soon after her return to the city, — the 
autumn following. 

They lived in the same city, and though the 
happy bride soon forgot the sensitive artist, and 
the rhyme he treated her to, she was never forgot- 
ten by him. 

A few years afterwards he had recovered from 
his chagrin and his love- sickness so far that he 
wooed and won another; but though he was 
thankful that he was denied one in order to get 
another more after his own heart, he had a 
brother’s interest in the heroine of his romantic 
passion by the mountains, and in the City of 
Brotherly Love he did not altogether lose sight 
of her family. 

Perry filled an early grave, and his mother soon 
followed him ; while ten years after her marriage, 
Lucille, the daughter and sister, was left a widow. 
She also followed her husband to the tomb, and 
left her only child to breast the storms of life 
without a parent. 

When time had blunted the poignancy of his 
refusal, Mr. Davenport was both pleased and 
thankful to her for the tact with which she had 
kindly saved him from a straightforward denial, 
and he would prefer the power of doing her a favor 
in return to any other desire in life; and now the 
way seemed to be open at last. 

There was no inheritance left to her orphan to 
require administration and guardianship from his 
relatives, and when Mr. Davenport, whose disin- 


202 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


terested kindness was the great romance of hi 
life, came forward and offered to adopt him, there 
was no objection urged against it by those who 
had the right to be his protectors and guardians, 
by reason of relationship to him. 

There is no authentic information to the effect 
that the kind-hearted Mrs., Davenport ever knew 
why her husband was so interested in a strange 
boy that he took him into the family; no doubt 
she thought it was for the genius his discriminating 
eye had discovered in the embryo artist; but even 
if she had known it, she was far too sensible and 
too benevolent herself to be jealous of a sentiment 
which could never take a more sinister form of ex- 
pression. 

Mr. Davenport used to delight to walk up on 
the heights with Robert before he became an in- 
valid, and impart his experiences to him for his 
instruction and amusement; and it was on one of 
those trips that he told him of his short but event- 
ful acquaintance with his mother. If there was 
anything wanting to increase his love and venera- 
tion for the artist, it would have been supplied 
by the tender and affectionate manner he spoke 
of his mother, after a lapse of twenty years, and 
when both she and Mrs. Davenport were resting 
in Laurel Hill Cemetery, where no one is jealous 
or envious. 

The parting was therefore the more affecting to 
both, because of the sentiment of their relation- 
ship ; and the old artist still held Robert’s hand as 


WAS SITE ENGAGED? 


203 


if he would say more, after he had said good-by 
several times to him. 

There was a time, perhaps, when he dreamed 
that his daughter and the son of the dazzling Lu- 
cille might love each other as he had loved the 
mountain -nymph, and his unuttered thoughts 
might have recalled it ; but even before he had 
suspected Lucy’s affections of leaning in another 
direction, he saw Rosy Heywood, another waif of 
his kindness, step into the niche he had designed 
for his daughter, and the fond dream had been dis- 
pelled long ago by that demonstrative and irre- 
pressible girl. 

But, setting sentimentalism aside, it was natural 
that Mr. Davenport should like to see the love of 
his daughter transferred to the only one he knew 
to be worthy of it, and have more hopes of her 
happiness by seeing her united to the one who had 
from her childhood showed himself in temper and 
disposition an agreeable companion to her. 

With Lucy herself his parting was very affecting, 
for she was now more in want of his sympathy than 
she could confess, since her father’s coldness, and 
the inutility of Rosamond’s advice, left her sadly 
in need of a friend in whom, as one of the family, 
she could confide her cares and anxieties. She 
wept as he told her that he was about to leave them 
and go so far away, and took no more pains to con- 
ceal or suppress her tears thah if they had been 
those of a sister. 

‘‘ Now, Lucy dear, your father loves you as much 


204 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


as he ever did, and when the feelings which his 
marriage has created will have lost their strange- 
ness, and you both become used to the new order 
of things, you will be able to feel towards each 
other as you always have felt. You must be cheer- 
ful, and not let him see that you have taken it to 
heart, so that he will not be diffident about show- 
ing his affection for you, as he is now, from a con- 
viction that you did not like to have him marry 
Sarah. I may be back in a year or two at most, 
and then we will have the same old times over 
again. Write to me every week about your 
father’s health, and anything else you can think 
of, and I will answer every letter. If he should 
not recover, remember you will have in me a friend 
upon whose care you can, and have a right to, 
rely as long as I live,’^ he said, as they parted on 
the porch. 

Rosamond proposed to walk down the avenue 
with him, and the carriage which was to convey 
him and his trunk to the railroad was driven 
ahead of them. 

She was nervous and excited, and talked rapidly 
all the way about making a fortune, as if to con- 
ceal her feelings at parting. 

Robert did not, however, perceive the ruse, and 
was disappointed because their last moments were 
employed so little to his taste ; for he well knew 
she would be in his mind while away just as he 
had found her when taking leave of her, and he 
was chagrined by the lightness of her conversation 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


205 


when he was undertaking the journey solely for 
her sake. 

The only thing he had to fan the sinking flame 
in his breast was the hope that he did not under- 
stand her, and that beneath her fickle and unsatis- 
factory surface she was concealing truth, firmness, 
and devotion, which his equally unsatisfactory 
declaration of love would not let her betray. 

The earnest desire to have all causes for reserve 
removed, and learn more of her heart in half an 
hour, by telling her that he loved her and wanted 
her love in return, than he could know in a life- 
time without doing it, came back to him with re- 
doubled force, for she was a mystery to him that 
he longed to solve. He would have done it, even 
had he been assured that she would have proved 
false to her troth and married some one else during 
his absence, but he also thought she might remain 
true to him, to her own disadvantage, and then the 
words of the simple ballad, — 

“ Five years have rolled round, 

And I have not a dollar,” 

occurred to his mind, and the fate of the patient 
‘‘ Evelina” deterred him from asking Rosamond to 
also await an event which might be equally long 
deferred. 

She disturbed his meditations by saying, in a 
light manner, — 

‘‘ How, Bob, while you grow a rich merchant, do 
18 


206 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


not allow yourself to contract those shop-airs so 
many of your brotherhood carry about them, as if 
advertising their business ; but, remember, you 
have always hated aftectation, and do not let your 
wealth and your wares be seen in your walk and 
your manners as well as in your warehouse.’’ 

‘‘ I wish you would not be always harping on 
‘business,* Rosy; for you make me fear that you 
are quizzing me, and you should be the last one to 
do that, since you have said so much to encourage 
me in this step,’* he said, impatiently. 

“Which proves that I am not quizzing you, or 
making light of our laudable enterprise, unless I 
could be guilty of not only misleading a friend, but 
also of stultifying myself.” 

“Well, I do not think you would do either ; this 
is the last time we shall see each other for many 
a day, and I would be glad to believe something 
better of you. I want to think of you. Rosy, as a 
talisman that is to aid me, and not as the fickle 
and unreliable creature you often appear to wish 
yourself taken for,” he said, warmly. 

“Wish myself taken, or rather mistaken, for a 
fickle, unreliable creature ? Why, Bob Heberton, 
was there ever a creature so slandered to her face 
before? No, sir; I want you to think me all that 
your fancy can paint me, — endowed with every 
perfection, — and not one quality which even your- 
self could, by distortion, construe into a fault,” she 
answered, with a comic eftbrt to severely rebuke 
him. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


207 


He wistfully looked at her, as if he would will- 
ingly believe all this, if he could, and she tried to 
look gravely, as if conscious of deserving it, whether 
he believed it or not. 

For awhile their eyes were fixed on each other, 
as if their sincerity depended on the strength of 
their stare, and then both laughed. 

This was Robert’s jpons asinorum^ and he could 
never pass it in his endeavors to reach her heart ; 
for she was too skillful in parrying his sober earn- 
estness by destroying his equilibrium just as he 
reached a point which she appeared to have marked 
for his discomfiture, and left him* no other re- 
source but to skirmish with indirect speeches, 
pointed by feigned feelings and witty retorts. 

He was used to her tactics, and liked to follow 
her well enough when time permitted ; but he had 
none to waste now, and he therefore said, with 
some impatience of manner, — 

‘‘ How, Rosy, I wish you would be serious for a 
few moments, and then I will say good-by to you. 
Can you remember the promise you made me that 
day my thigh was broken on the hill yonder? — let 
us now understand it, and each other.” 

Why, I thought that was all understood; and 
I am certain that I know my part well enough, — it 
is merely to pass judgment whenever you present 
before my honor a trembling victim for the hyme- 
neal altar, and no more : that is simple enough for 
a child to comprehend.” 

‘‘Bah! you are neither a child nor a fool, that 


208 


WAS SEE ENGAGED 9 


my meaning was not evident enough to you ; and I 
wish you would let me say the few words time will 
permit me, without any of this foolish disguise or 
equivocation,’’ he answered. 

The color and nervousness returned again, and 
she seemed alarmed by his earnestness ; but quickly 
rallying, she said, with a confidential tone, which 
wore his patience entirely out, — 

‘‘ Oh, yes. Bob, I understood you well enough; 
and I would not have given my consent to your 
marriage with her had you asked for it, though I 
suppose you would marry her without it, had she 
not saved you by marrying uncle. And now, as all 
you said had reference to her, I suppose you wish 
to be released from a promise which you would 
never have kept ?” 

‘‘Rosy, you would wear out the patience of a 
saint, and the last lesson you will teach me is what 
I have learned from you a thousand times before. 
Will nothing make you sincere and candid for one 
half-hour ? You would equivocate at the altar, and 
Death himself would not find you willing to lay 
aside your everlasting coquetry !” he cried, in de- 
spair. 

“What would you have me do, pray? cry, and 
let you see how much I feel your departure ? Why, 
I would spoil you by flattery, and I do not want to 
see you like other only brothers, — full of their own 
importance. You must come back as you go away, 
neither more nor less of you, and you will find us, at 


WAS SHE ENGAGED^ 


209 


least Lucy and myself, just the same, and no more 
than as you left us,” she said. 

‘‘Well, then, so be it, with all my heart,” he 
cried, and he drew her to his breast. 

She did not either resist or return his embrace, 
for her arms hung passively by her side ; but when 
he was going off, and turned for a last look at her, 
she kissed her hand to him, and he went away sat- 
isfied. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Though Mr. Davenport was proud of Robert’s 
enterprising spirit, and had high hopes of his suc- 
cess, yet his departure left him a disconsolate man, 
and his mind became greatly depressed in conse- 
quence. He deemed himself rapidly sinking, and 
the consciousness of having done a very foolish act 
by getting married made him unhappy and morose. 

His wife was not a companion for him, and be- 
tween himself and his daughter there was a gulf 
made by his folly beyond which neither could pass ; 
so that since Robert — with whom alone he could 
discuss the misunderstanding — had gone away, 
there was no one to share his griefs or look to for 
sympathy. 

While his daughter was treated with kindness 
and respect by his wife, he felt that he had made 
her more of a guest in the house than she ought 
to be ; for he never saw her except in his wife’s 
presence, and she was as backward in forcing her- 
self upon his society as if she had been a stranger. 

As he grew more feeble, there was a change in 
his manner; he noticed her more, addressed his 
words to her oftener, and at length called upon her 
to do many little offices which his wife had been in 
the habit of doing ; for if Sarah did not make a 
( 210 ) 


WAS SEE ENGAGED^ 


211 


loving bride, she became, at least, a good nurse, 
which was more to the purpose. 

Lucy evinced a willingness to be reconciled and 
a gladness to serve him that gained much upon his 
affections, notwithstanding that she knew herself 
to be innocent of anything which ought to have 
alienated them from her. There was a dignity 
under all her devotedness and love that had been 
mortally wounded, and the old feelings could never 
be restored again ; for her heart had fine chords 
in it, which, when once touched by an unkind 
deed, would vibrate while its pulsations lasted, 
though the hand that touched them could well be 
forgiven. 

Gradually the duty of giving him his medicine 
devolved upon his daughter ; for he said she could 
read Latin better than his wife; but as the direc- 
tions were uniformly in plain English, as they 
ought to be, this reason had not much weight in it. 

The truth was that, as his daughter regained the 
confidence his wife had undermined, the latter 
became odious to him, and the weakness of his 
mental powers decreasing with his physical, he 
finally refused to take any medicine from her. 

His reluctance to take anything from his wife 
became so palpable and strong that it amounted to 
a suspicion of treachery, and, being so interpreted 
by her, she became cold, indignant, and defiant. 

Whatever else Sarah was deficient in, she could 
always boast of a good, politic judgment, and, 
were she even without human tenderness, self- 


212 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


interest would not let her wish her husband evil, 
as her object had been attained by her marriage, 
and its possession was guaranteed by his life rather 
than by his death. 

I have forgotten to mention that soon after they 
had returned home I went out to congratulate Mr. 
Davenport and his wife, as if ignorant of the part 
I had involuntarily played in bringing their mar- 
riage about. 

There was not much to congratulate them upon, 
certainly ; but I contrived to say some things cus- 
tomary to a wedding, and was able to counterfeit 
smiles to sustain my words. Mr. Davenport coldly, 
though civilly, thanked me ; but it was a part of 
my acting to overlook any coldness and come out 
there occasionally as if nothing had been revealed 
to me. 

Rosamond was present when the hollow form of 
congratulation was spoken ; and to hide her feel- 
ings, whatever they were, she thrust her hand into 
her deep literary pocket, and appeared to search 
diligently for something deposited there. 

As I turned to Mrs. Davenport, who had then 
entered, the hand dived and rolled in the pocket 
like a porpoise in the water, and her eyes peered 
down after it, while there was a nervous twitching 
of the lips, as if she found it difficult to restrain a 
smile of scorn or merriment. 

I imagined she was despising me, as her brows 
knit in thoughtful surprise at the disappearance of 
her treasure from her pocket, and I resolved to say 


WAS SHU ENGAGED? 


213 


nothing to the bride, at least, that could be called 
hypocrisy. 

She had often said the most sarcastic and severe 
things to me with the smile of an angel on her 
face, and I think I had learned a little from her; 
for I know my face broke into smiles of pleasure, 
and my lips parted as if to utter benevolent bless- 
ings, while I took her hand with aflfectionate re- 
spect and hissed, — 

Sarah, you have the devil’s genius for deceit, 
and will also have his reward for using it so well.’' 

‘‘ Edward, you were always so witty and compli- 
mentary,” she replied in the same undertone, while 
smiles and blushes mantled her cheeks, as if I had 
wished her health, heirs, and happiness to the end 
of a long life. 

My first visit being successful, I did not want for 
occasions for calling again, and before Robert had 
departed I had been there three times. 

When news of the safe arrival of the steamer 
Robert went to Aspinwall in was telegraphed, I 
went out to bring them word, and, as usual, was 
welcomed by all in the family. 

Dr. Boynton was now a visitor there ; for, being 
an old friend of Mrs. Davenport, he was invited by 
her, while Rosamond, by her coquettish way of 
quizzing him, seemed to second the invitation. 

Out of respect to me, Lucy came into the parlor, 
when I had talked as much to her father as I could 
without fatiguing him; for I am sure she would 
not sit there otherwise while Dr. Boynton was 


214 


WAS SHE ENGAGED^ 


making his silly impertinences to Rosamond. She 
was as much grieved as I was to see her cousin 
pursue a course of flirtation with the doctor, which 
was not deserved or expected by Robert. 

At the hour for medicine Lucy was called out to 
give it to her father, and, taking advantage of her 
absence, the doctor so far forgot his respect to 
Rosamond as to stretch himself out on a lounge, 
asking me to excuse him ; but never, by look or 
word, seeming to think the lady who was entertain- 
ing him ought to be asked for permission or pardon. 

I looked at Rosamond in surprise, perhaps ex- 
pecting her to ask me to kick him out for his ill 
manners, and then she colored deeply, and said, in 
a tone that was intended to be resentful, — 

“And won’t you ask me to excuse you at all, 
sir? £>0 you not think I am entitled to any apolo- 
gies for such a lazy disposition of your limbs ?” 

The laugh that followed her reproof did not hide 
her mortification at his letting me see how little 
respect he had for her presence ; but he took it in 
jest, and carelessly replied, — 

“ Oh, yes, certainly : excuse me. Miss Rosy. I 
have had a long drive this morning, and am tired, 
you know.” 

“Yes, know’ physicians are always running 
about, if their own words are to be taken for it ; 
they are called here and there, rung up at night, 
and whispered out of church on Sunday,” she re- 
torted. 

“ I do not know much about being called ^ there,’ 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


215 


or ‘ whispered out of church/ as I never go into 
one, or being ‘ rung up in the night / but I con- 
fess I arn called ‘here' often by that much-abused 
medium of circulation, my heart," he replied. 

“Yes, I believe you have circulated it pretty ex- 
tensively, and as your life depends on keeping the 
circulation up, I hope you will not allow it to stop," 
she said, with sarcasm too well disguised for his 
intellectual keenness. 

I did not wait to hear the reply, but stepped out 
on the veranda, where Lucy, wLo was just return- 
ing from her father’s room, joined me, and I pro- 
posed a short walk. I looked upon myself as her 
suitor, and had taken her father’s cold invitation 
to come out often for an assent to my attentions to 
his daughter, and did not think anything else ex- 
cept her own assent was necessary to our mar- 
riage. 

When we had walked some distance from the 
house, I thought I had as good an opportunity then 
as I w^ould have at any future time for discovering 
how I was progressing, as her ready, and even 
eager, assent to the walk gave me hope that my 
company was agreeable to her. 

‘‘ I left Dr. Boynton alone with Miss Hey wood, 
because I thought he was very far gone in his love- 
sickness, and would, at any moment, bring on the 
crisis,” I said. 

“ I do not see w^hat he can hope for from Cousin 
Rosy ; for she has not even respect for him, at least 
for his character, much less love,” she hastily replied. 


216 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


‘‘ You think, then, I suppose, that respect is in- 
separable from love?” I observed. 

‘‘Yes ; why not ? Are there any who deny it ?” 
she asked, in return. 

“Yes; a great many deny it, practically, by ac- 
cepting and marrying those whose peculiarities 
they laugh at,’^ I said. 

“Peculiarities do not cover Dr. Boynton’s faults 
entirely ; though, for the respect I have to man- 
hood, I hope they are peculiar to himself. My 
father and you and Robert, who comprise my world 
of observation, do not show any relationship to his 
peculiar species, and if the rest of the world were 
like him, where do all the heroes and great men 
we hear and read about come from ?” she said. 

I could not help laughing ; it seemed so strange 
fo me to hear one who was naturally very careful 
to say nothing severe against an offender, however 
strongly she would condemn the offense in the ab- 
stract, speak so harshly of one man to another only 
a little longer in the circle of her acquaintances. 

I accounted for it to myself, first, because she 
disliked to see her cousin flirt with him, but mostly 
because I had won her confidence; and that gave 
me oponfldence in myself, and hurried me on in my 
love career. 

“Your candor is quite refreshing, and I am much 
obliged to you for your favorable classification of 
myself,” I said, as soon as I could suppress an 
inclination to crow aloud over my anticipated 
triumph. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


217 


‘^Why not? Is it not best to be candid in any- 
thing in which good and bad, right and wrong, are 
contrasted ? And a good opinion is a thing which 
a person earns and has a right to, rather than what 
he must feel obliged for,” she returned, with a 
sweet earnestness which thrilled me. 

I must take some exceptions to the philosophy 
of your last clause, since an opinion often depends 
on the taste and character of the person who forms 
it What would you think of such a wise and dis- 
criminating person as Mrs. Davenport preferring 
the doctor to me ? She has done so on a great 
many occasions, and, though it was before you 
knew either of us, we have not changed much 
since then,” I said, with some tremulousness, for I 
was about to make a confession, having heard her 
once express herself in regard to broken engage- 
ments, and thinking it due to her frank nature to 
tell her all about mine before I asked her to take 
Sarah’s place. 

I do not know what to think of it,” she said, 
thoughtfully looking at me. 

^‘Yes,” I continued, ‘‘she and I were engaged 
to be married once, and we had many a quarrel 
before our engagement was broken off about this 
same Dr. Boynton ; not that I was so self-distrustful 
as to be jealous of him in particular, but that she 
would go to greater lengths with him than with 
more dangerous beaux, and, like Caesar, I should 
want to see the name of her who becomes my wife 
above reproach. The engagement was not broken 
19 


218 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


off directly on his account, I am glad to say; but 
it was because of her capricious conduct and flirt- 
ing with him that we were so ready to break it off 
when a less important matter gave us opportunity/’ 
The reader will see that I did not bear very 
heavily on myself in this confession ; but who will 
condemn themselves, being their own judges ? 

^‘It is very good and polite of you to meet the 
doctor and Mrs. Davenport so pleasantly after the 
sorrow they have caused you ; and I think Rosy 
should be more careful, and not encourage his 
foolish attentions,” she said. 

I was immediately sorry that I had not told her 
I had been once engaged, without connecting the 
doctor or her stepmother with it; but it was too 
late, and I said, jumping at once to the vital ques- 
tion, — 

It ought to be the cause of thankfulness now to 
me, since the love I wasted on her has been trans- 
ferred to one more worthy of it, and far better 
suited in temper and disposition to my taste; and 
I will bless both Sarah and the doctor for their 
flirtations if you, Lucy, will tell me that this time 
my love is given to one who will appreciate it and 
repay it a thousand times with her own.” 

She turned to me with a look of the most un- 
feigned surprise, and asked, in a hurried, earnest 
manner, — 

Do you mean that you love me, Mr. Pearson ?” 

Yes, all that and far more, too, since the same 
words would be used to express love more lightly 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


219 


felt and more lightly deserved,” I replied, feeling 
confident that she would at once confess as frankly 
as she had spoken on every other subject, that her 
surprise had been an agreeable one, and I could 
have her and welcome. 

I was sadly mistaken, however, for in a moment 
her look was one of sincere regret, and she feel- 
ingly said, — 

“I am very sorry that I can give you no more 
than my sincere thanks for the feelings you have 
expressed, Mr. Pearson ; but that is all I can re- 
turn, sensible as I am of how worthy you are of the 
love of a true woman.” 

I was confounded for a moment by her reply; 
she spoke like one who had more experience and 
had reflected more on the subject than I had ex- 
pected; but I rallied, and said, — 

Perhaps you think less of me after what I 
have just confessed ; but I can assure you that you 
have my love as fully as if I had never spoken of 
it to any other woman : do not doubt that, I beg 
of you !” 

She pressed my arm warmly and caressingly, 
and replied, in the same sincere way, — 

‘‘Indeed, 1 do not; I believe you would not say 
so unless you loved me truly, and it grieves me to 
think of it. I did not expect such a declaration, 
and I can never forgive myself if I have by a word 
or look ever encouraged a passion which I could 
not reciprocate.” 

“You have not, I assure you ! It is because you 


220 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


have inspired rather than encouraged it that I have 
confessed it. Perhaps I have been too abrupt; you 
have not thought of it and have not seen enough 
of me to say yes or no. I shall let it rest for your 
future consideration/’ I said. 

“ No, no, Mr. Pearson ! though unexpected, my 
answer to you would be the same at any time. 
From the first time I saw you I have entertained 
the highest respect for you, and by the pleasure 
you have always given us you have added to that 
respect a warm interest; but nothing more could 
happen had you let the question remain open for 
any length of time ; and I cannot encourage you 
to do it.” 

This was enough ; for, though spoken in a soft, 
affectionate tone, I knew she was in earnest, and, 
feeling sorely disappointed, I turned to take her 
back to the house. 

With her hand pressing still on my arm, she said, 
in a pleading, sisterly way, — 

‘^No, do not let us return yet; let us walk up 
this hill. You look grieved, and I do not want 
to let you go away so, for you would never come 
back to us again, and we all would miss you and 
be disappointed.” 

I turned with her again, and she continued, — 

^‘If you will only let me be as sister to you, we 
will always love each other ! I am sure that is the 
way we feel, only just now, because there were no 
blood ties, you forgot yourself, and thought you 
felt difterently.” 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


221 


I shook my head ominously, though I began to 
suspect that my disappointment arose from wounded 
vanity, and was not of that deep, suicidal nature 
which should characterize a wild, passionate love 
such as we read of in some novels. 

She, however, penetrated the gloomy atmosphere 
of my countenance, and, still pressing my arm, she 
smilingly said, — 

It would not do for you to make such a decla- 
ration to some young ladies, you know; for they 
would feel so flattered that you would be accepted 
at once, and then you would have to make the best 
of a poor mate, if your love was not that of a true, 
lasting, marriageable kind : all are not philoso- 
phers and metaphysicians like I am, and are not 
able to discriminate like your sister.” 

Between her caresses on my arm, her evident 
sympathy, and her sweet endeavors to make me 
feel humorous and pleasant, my disappointment 
was melting away very rapidly. I became more 
confident that my self-esteem rather than my heart 
was hurt by the refusal ; and if I were alone I could 
have cuffed my own head for being such a fool as 
to mistake my feelings ; but, as she went on coax- 
ing me in her tender, artless way, I made my face 
longer, and looked the more gloomy as she tried to 
make me smile. 

Forgive me if I have wounded your feelings 
by seeming to lightly regard what you have said 
to me. I do not; I do not, I assure you!” she 
19 * 


222 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


said, becoming saddened again by the increased 
length of my face. 

I felt mean and hypocritical, and would, if my 
fear of her contempt had let me, tell her, with 
equal frankness, that I was more mortified at my 
mistake than disappointed in love, but I merely 
replied, — 

‘‘No; you are too good and too sensible, Lucy, 
to make light of what saddens another.” 

“ You are right, my dear friend. 

‘ Taught by the power that pities me,’ 

I esteem whatever makes a fellow-creature sad or 
joyous a great thing, and sympathize with all that 
afiects the human heart or mind. He who trieth 
the heart knows that I do not lightly regard what 
you have said to me ; but what can I say, or what 
can I do, to express my appreciation of your words, 
and yet at the same time convince you that it is 
better for both that we should be no more than 
good, faithful friends?” 

“Nothing; you have said enough to prove how 
good you are, Lucy ” 

“ That is right ! Call me Lucy always, and I 
will call you Edward, and you shall see what fine, 
old-fashioned friends we will be!” she exultingly 
exclaimed. 

I could no longer hold out under such a storm 
of tenderness and entreaty, and I accepted her 
proposition, while I tried to keep her from doubt- 
ing that she would be more acceptable to me as a 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


223 


wife than as a sister. I drew her head to me, and 
imprinting a kiss on her smooth, white forehead, I 
said, — 

‘‘ Well, then, good-by, sweetheart Lucy, and wel- 
come, sister Lucy ! If such a transition must be, 
the sooner I realize it the better.*' 

There, now, that is right! spoken like what I 
always took you to be,’’ she said, looking into my 
face and taking my hands, as if I was a patient just 
recovering from a paroxysm and herself was the 
physician. 

‘‘Yes, it is all over, Lucy,” I said, contriving, 
however, to keep my face from indorsing my 
words too readily; for, besides being ashamed of 
the lightness of my passion, I imagined she would 
not like me less for breaking my heart a little for 
her. 

[ I fear I make myself appear a very deceitful 
man, a male flirt, for keeping up the appearance 
of a passion that I knew to be illusory; but I did 
not pretend to it for the sake of urging it further; 
but rather, like a general, made a show of long, 
heavy lines, to cover my real weakness and retreat. 
Onl}^ I was afraid she would think me silly, I 
would have thanked her at once for not listening 
to my professions of love; for if there is such a 
thing as the love the poets and romancers tell us 
about, almost an inspiration, we would have mar- 
ried without it, and discovered our error when too 
late. We would have spoiled sound friendship to 
make spurious love, like many before us; and I 


224 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


think if women were the wooers instead of the 
wooed this would not be a common occurrence^ 
They are better judges of the passion, if they are 
of the sensible kind, and they more readily distin- 
guish between it and esteem or respect; but not 
being the suitors, they too often accept what is 
offered to them rather than risk getting nothing 
more. 

Lucy and myself became lively in a few moments, 
and now that we were in a groove out of which we 
could not slip, we talked of family matters. 

After a few remarks about her father’s marriage 
with Sarah, she said, — 

‘‘ Your engagement with Sarah surprises me ; 
tell me all about it, if it is not a painful subject to 
you ; it must be very interesting, for she was always 
such a clever, brilliant girl.’^ 

‘‘Ifo, it is not at all painful to think of, only 
sometimes a little mortifying, as in all cases where 
people recover from love-sickness, and discover 
how irrational and pettish they were while the 
fever was upon them. There are other things con- 
nected with my acquaintance with Sarah which 
make it disagreeable to me to think or speak of 
now. Robert was my confidant all the time, and 
when he returns to you he will tell you about it, 
and the miserable time I had with her.” 

I meant when he had returned to the family, 
but she interpreted you in the singular, and while 
she gasped for breath, a flush overspread her face, 
and a flash of light burst from her calm blue eyes. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


225 


Either her eyes became dark after the sudden 
illumination, and her face vacant of any expression, 
or else my vision became so impaired by the dis- 
covery, so startling, so evident, and so unexpected, 
for all was dark and indistinct to me for a few* 
moments afterwards. 

‘‘ Here,” said I, while my eyes were dimly look- 
ing over the distant hills , — ‘‘ here is a desperate 
case of cross-love ! I in love with Lucy, she loves 
Robert, he loves Rosamond, and she apparently 
thinks of falling in love with the doctor ! Can 
there be anything in surgical experience, or in the 
records of the London Lancet^ more hopelessly cross- 
eyed than we appear to be in our affections?” 

I was about to form a sentimental pity for my- 
self at first, as the only one in the party who had 
no one’s love ; but in an instant my selfishness was 
forgotten, and I pitied the girl beside me, who, 
I was sure, had felt the passion longer and more 
deeply than I could comprehend. She was her- 
self in a moment, and reading my thoughts wrong, 
she thought I was relapsing into another fit of 
love melancholy, and said, in a cheerful mood, to 
arouse me from it, — 

“Do you not think the doctor has had time to 
‘ say his say V As you are old acquaintances, you 
must be aware that he cannot say much without 
repeating the same words over; and, as Rosy has 
intelligence enough to comprehend their full mean- 
ing at the first speaking, she must be wearied by 
this time.'’ 


226 


WAS SUE ENGAGED 9 


She appears to like listening to him, however,’’ 
I replied, carelessly. 

How can she help being polite to him ? And 
he mistakes her smiles of amusement for smiles of 
appreciation,” she said, noticing my sarcasm. 

‘‘You do not think she cares for him, then V 

“IIow can she ? You do not seem to know her 
at all; and I have often thought you misjudged 
her, — she is more inclined to laugh than to weep 
at human follies ; but she is fully capable of appre- 
ciating better things,” she returned. 

It was said more warmly that the preceding sen- 
tences, for they were spoken more for my amuse- 
ment than to abuse the doctor, and I more than 
ever appreciated the charity and generosity that 
defended the one who was not only her rival, but 
also was trifling with the man she loved. 

I pitied both Robert and herself. I had matched 
them the flrst night I saw them together; but Cupid, 
who seems to delight in setting suitableness aside 
when pairing his victims, made light of my judg- 
ment, and, in his childish wantonness, mated Rob- 
ert with Rosamond. 

It was, doubtless, because I had more faith in 
the blindness of love than in the sight of reason and 
judgment, that I had followed my “ jack-o’-the- 
lantern” passion and came to grief now. 

I saw that Lucy was lovable, and that Robert 
was the destined of another; and, having no one to 
love me, I undertook the gratuitous task of mak- 
ing myself her lover and her beloved. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


227 


But I was getting a sister’s affection, and was 
becoming accustomed to the new state of affairs 
very rapidly. Every moment that we lingered on 
the road home was making our manners and feel- 
ings easier and more natural towards each other ; 
and, only for the foolishness of my mistake in think- 
ing I loved her, I would have been happy. 

As her qualities of heart and head became more 
evident and perspicuous by this interview, I feared 
that it was only her charity and goodness which 
kept her from seeing the weakness of my judg- 
ment, and despising me for it, and I hastened our 
steps back to the house, to prevent her from hav- 
ing time to think calmly over it, and withdrawing 
her esteem from me before I was out of her sight. 

But Lucy was a woman, and no man could in- 
cur her displeasure or enmity by telling her, with re- 
spectful earnestness, that he loved her. I never had 
cause to think that she liked me less for it, though 
I often wished I had known my mind better, and 
spared myself the mortification of a refusal. 


CHAPTER XV. 


When Lucy and I had returned to the house, 
Dr. Boynton was gone, and we found Rosamond 
sitting out on the veranda, with a volume of poems 
in her hand, which she was perusing too intently 
to observe our approach, — as if the dull and stale 
compliments of the doctor had left her in want of 
some such mental stimulant to drive the ennui away. 
She rather avoided my scrutiny, as I tried to learn 
from her face the impression her visitor had left 
behind him ; so I bade her a hurried adieu, as I 
had three miles across the fields to walk to the 
train, which left in an hour. 

From Lucy I received a warmer and more 
pressing invitation to come out soon again than 
she had given me ever before ; but Rosamond said 
nothing. 

‘‘ She doubtless feels mortified at the attitude the 
doctor’s conduct towards her has assumed, and is 
displeased with me for being an innocent witness 
of it,” I said, as I turned away. 

When I had walked about half the distance to 
the station, I sat down on a rock to rest, and to ru- 
minate over what I had said to Liicy and received 
in reply. 

I had not been there long when I was surprised 
( 228 ) 


WAS SHE ENGAGED $ 


229 


by the doctor, who had approached me, unobserved, 
satchel in hand, as if going to the city with me. 

He was excited, perspiring, and panting, and as 
he came up to me held out his hand with a tragic 
gesture, and said, — 

‘‘Well met, fellow-mourner! Give me your 
hand, for I am in the same boat with you : jilted, 
rejected, and blighted by perfidious woman 1’^ And 
he solemnly shook the hand I extended to him. 

I comprehended his situation in a moment, but I 
felt the blood mount to the top of my head as I was 
thus convinced that he was equally acquainted with 
mine ; for the greatest unpleasantness that could 
be attached to it was that one who had so little 
claims on my esteem and confidence as Dr. Boyn- 
ton should be privy to my rejection, or anything 
else which concerned my heart- affairs. 

Without seeming to notice his reference to my- 
self, I looked as calm and sympathetic as I could, 
and wondered how a man with so little acuteness 
of intellect as he had could so easily penetrate my 
secret; but, in order to be non-committal and en- 
couraging, I said, — 

“Women are the cause of all our troubles, 
doctor, and yet we court them 

“Yes, oh, curse them! We give them a little 
trouble when we first come on the stage, but, by 
way of revenging their own faults and follies upon 
us, they trouble and torment us all our subsequent 
career, as if we were to blame for our appearance on 
it. Mr. Pearson, I have often in conversation with 
20 


230 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


you pretended to some knowledge of the female 
heart, and with as good reason as any other man, 
because of my extensive and varied association 
with the sex. But now I take it all back : I know 
nothing at all about it, I never did know anything, 
and the conceit that 1 did was only a pleasant de- 
lusion which has now been rudely torn from me !” 

I was astonished by such a burst of loquacity ; 
for, as Lucy had wittily observed, the doctor’s voca- 
bulary was not very extensive, nor his grasp of 
thought great enough to require many words to 
set it oft*. 

He paused for want of breath, and to wipe the 
perspiration from his face, and then continued, 
with renewed indignation and vehemence, — 

\ I can only say this much now, as a phoenix 
rising out of the ashes of my past experience : if a 
man wants to be accepted, let him sit down and 
think over the names of those of his female ac- 
quaintance least likely to want him, and then let 
him select the most unlikely one among them all, 
call on her and ask her without any preliminaries. 
If he wants to be jilted, rejected, and blighted, 
let him call up all his knowledge of the female 
heart, recall to his mind everything he has heard 
women say about themselves, and everything he 
has heard from those men best acquainted with 
them; let him think of all that novelists have 
written about them; the coquetry of some who 
always pretend to like those they want to make 
victims of; the bashfulness of others who fly from 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


231 


those they wish to entrap; the smiles of those sharp 
ones who are on the lookout for young green gos- 
lings, and the frankness of those whose faces are 
always an index to their heart; let him put all his 
information together, and select the one who, by 
those sundry and divers rules, has given him the 
most hope, ask her, and then find himself a jilted, 
rejected, blighted man ; and disappointment, like a 
phoenix, growing out of the ashes of his hopes.’’ 

He paused again, and, while I was amused at the 
lesson Rosamond had undoubtedly taught him, and 
the eloquence which resulted from it, I took the 
opportunity of suggesting that our time was short, 
and we had better move on towards the station 
and discuss the matter on the way. 

He was, no doubt, a much-injured man in his own 
estimation, though I thought, since his ideas were 
enlarged by being ‘‘jilted, rejected, and blighted,” 
he was not much injured. 

He proceeded further to execrate his luck and 
the sex, and even blamed me as if responsible for 
his humiliation. 

“ Oh, confound me ! who could expect such an 
answer as I got after the way she drew me on ? 
Confound you, Pearson ! why did you go out of the 
room just at that time, and leave, me alone with 
her? If you had remained I would never have let 
myself be such a stupid ass as to let her take me 
by the ears, and then fling me over, as if I was not 
worth my fodder. Hang her for a termagant ! how 
she warmed me up the moment she had me alone! 


232 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


I can never look myself in the face again, but will 
break every glass that reminds me who I am, — a 
jilted, rejected, and blighted man, — a phoenix of 
sorrow, grown out of the ashes of my folly ! Why 
did I ask her, when I know I did not want her or 
any one else ? But it was to be so ; I was destined 
to row in the same boat with you, — tossed in by 
Rosy Heywood, as Sarah Carroll has done with you. 
Galley-slaves, by Jove 

I felt greatly relieved ; he was thinking of my 
quarrel with Sarah, — and that had long before ceased 
to hurt me ; so now, his mind being exhausted 
of its ideas, I began to question him about his re- 
jection, having no fears that he would ask me simi- 
lar questions in regard to mine. 

Rosamond had avenged me so well that she had 
won my good opinion at last, and I was impatient to 
learn what she had said which so effectually ban- 
ished him and all hope of renewing his suit, notwith- 
standing his excessive vanity. I said, therefore, — 

“ It must be very trying to be refused by a girl 
who does not know the value of what she throws 
away, doctor ; but perhaps you did not understand 
her, — she might have only wanted a little coaxing. 
After having, as you remarked, drawn you on, she 
was doubtless anxious to have you think you did 
the most courting, to save her own dignity. Tell 
me what you said to her, and what she answered, 
and we will put the whole thing together, and 
make it out; for, you know, two heads are better 
than one.” 


WAS SUB ENGAGED? 


233 


Oh, it is all clear enough ; I am dished, like 
a skewered chicken, with the tail of my pride 
plucked out, like the. witch plucked the tail of 
Tam O’Shanter’s mare. 

‘‘ The moment you left us, she turned on me like 
a wildcat, — I suppose for not begging her pardon at 
first, when I begged yours; and it was really too 
much for mortal man to remain unmoved when 
she looked so charming in her fury. 

‘‘I had no idea of asking her before then, for 
my motto is, that a man is happier to remain sin- 
gle, and let the women long for him and coax him, 
and then, when they think they have caught him, 
let disappointment come, like a phoenix, from the 
ashes of their hopes, while you throw their mem- 
ory to the winds, like the witch threw the tail of 
Tam O’Shanter’s mare. Bah! on my knees to 
her ! who would have thought of such a thing ? 

“Perfidious woman ! STo one could be more sur- 
prised than myself to see such a fine girl make a 
fool of herself; it is sad to think of it, and it is 
mortifying to me to be jilted and blighted by one 
who has so plainly coaxed me to have her. How 
she did it is more than I can understand, unless, 
like a phoenix, she has come up from the ashes of 
those Hew England witches. It makes me mad to 
think that a witch got hold of me, and then threw 
me to the winds, like the witch threw the tail of 
Tam O’Shanter’s mare.'' 

Between the phoenix and the tail of “ Tam 
O’Shanter's’' mare, all hope of getting the tale of 
20 * 


234 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


his rejection seemed lost to me. His various emo- 
tions on finding himself so carelessly thrown to 
the winds” were doubtless felt in the order in 
which he mentioned them above: first surprise, 
then sadness at losing the fine girl,” then mor- 
tification, and lastly, anger; and so desirous was I 
of getting the particulars from him, in order to send 
them to Robert, that I invited him to spend the 
evening with me, for on our way to the city I could 
not get him to say more than he told me in the few 
first sentences, as his tautology clogged his ideas. 
As he was for the fortieth time referring to the 
resuscitating powers of the phoenix, I interrupted 
him, and anticipated his words. Surprised that I 
should know what w^as coming, he exclaimed, — 
By Jove, old fellow, you have hit it ! How did 
you know so well what I was going to say ? Ah ! 
I know now ! ‘ Great minds think alike,’ is the old 
saying.” And, pleased at his own wit, he laughed 
aloud, forgetting that he had rounded his sentences 
so often with the death and resurrection of the 
phoenix. 

Hot wishing to be classed with so original a 
mind, I said, in explanation, — 

‘‘ From a grandfather of mine, whom I resemble 
in person, I have inherited an intuitive power of 
catching the thoughts from a man’s lips before he 
speaks them, so that often I can keep in advance 
of a speaker, my eyes doing the service of my 
ears.” 

“ Indeed ! that is wonderful ! and I wish, then, 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


235 


that your eyes had done the service of my ears 
awhile ago, and told me, in advance, what Rosy 
Heywood would have said : they would have saved 
me from the blight of listening to her,^’ he said ; 
and then he took a fresh start, and related to me, 
as follows, the tale of his wrongs, only I leave out 
his repetitions, for brevity’s sake : 

‘‘After all her sweet looks and words, who could 
have helped thinking that she was dead in love 
with me ? for she seemed ambitious of catching 
a man, and not on the lookout for green young 
goslings to pluck, as Sarah Carroll used to be. 

“ In fact, if I had been a youth in my first flirta- 
tion, I would have been vanquished long ago ; but 
I was an old trout, and it required some angling to 
catch me. But confidence made me careless, and, 
taking a sudden tack on me, she got me, like the 
witch got the tail of Tam O’Shanter’s mare, before 
I knew what she was about. 

“ I rather think by this time she has risen in her 
own esteem, for she is the first one that ever got 
the underhold of me, I can tell you, Pearson. 

“As soon as you went out, she stood up like a 
queen, and told me that, though she believed my 
familiarity was well meant, it would be criticised 
to her prejudice, and my visits to her had better 
cease. She said she was thankful for my past at- 
tentions, which had been agreeable to her, though 
she was compelled to decline any more, owing to 
the form they had taken. 

“ 1 thought that she had despaired of getting 


236 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


me, and wanted to drive me away out of spite, 
and, fool-like, I fell down on my knees, and asked 
her to take me and give herself to me, that I could 
not stay away from her, for I was desperately in 
love with her. 

I do not know how much more nonsense I said 
to her, but I know I said the same thing forty times 
over for her accommodation, as she was looking 
for something in her pocket all the time, and I 
talked on, thinking it was a written answer she 
had prepared in expectation that I would one day 
forget my usual caution and go one step too far. 

When I was out of breath and could say no more, 
she coolly took her hand out of her pocket, and 
told me that she felt highly complimented, having 
never before flattered herself that I meant anything 
besides politeness by my attentions, but she must 
decline to hear any more, and hoped that I would 
not give the matter another thought, as she would 
not. J ust as if either of us could forget her triumph ! 

If she had shown any inclination to accept me, 
I would have backed out at once, and stood a 
breach of promise suit ; but her disdain made me 
the more desirous of getting her, and I began the 
whole thing over again, when she cut me short 
by resuming her seat, and telling me that she 
was waiting to say good-by whenever I was done, 
for she had nothing else to say to me. 

‘‘ I suppose I did not make my declaration in the 
words she expected, and she was disappointed 
when the reply she had in her pocket would not 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


237 


suit it ; for she looked angry enough to eat me. 
But I have taken her at her word, and my motto 
is, let wisdom grow like a phoenix out of the ashes 
of experience; for I hope to be jerked up like the 
tail of Tam O’Shanter’s mare, the next time I offer 
myself to another woman !” 

Well, from this day I could think better of Rosa- 
mond, for I perceived that my look was not with- 
out its effect, as it was that which doubtless called 
up her self-respect, and made her give the doctor 
a lesson on politeness which promised to be remem- 
bered for some time to come. 

He lost no time in leaving the neighborhood, for 
with his satchel he started at once for the city, in- 
tending to engage a passage in the first steamer 
leaving ITew York. 

I had some curiosity to learn where he was de- 
sirous of going, and suggested Paris as a place 
where he would be apt to forget his griefs; but 
he said, — 

^‘JSTo, hang me if I want to go where there are 
so many women ! when I leave this bewitched 
neighborhood, I want to be where there are not so 
many witches to remind me of what that one has 
done to me 

I suggested to him that the women he would 
meet in Paris would be more bent on looking in 
the milliners’ shops than for husbands; but he de- 
clared that even while shopping they did not forget 
their coquetry, and related to me an adventure he 
had with Rosamond a few days before, which more 


238 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


than anything else prepared him for his humilia- 
tion, and which I repeat, because it is the only 
witty retort I had ever known the doctor to make 
in time, as he was usually late in condensing his 
wisdom for a retort. 

Rosamond had been in the city shopping, and, 
as she was gazing at a pyramid of silks and laces, 
the doctor approached her, unperceived, and 
said, — 

“Won’t you let me select the fashions for you. 
Miss Rosamond 

“No, doctor, I have a woman’s weakness for 
pleasing myself; unless you are willing to pay for 
them,” she replied, in the easy, careless way in 
which she usually bandied words with him. 

“And I have a man’s dislike to paying for 
any woman’s millinery except a wdfe’s; so you 
know on what conditions I will pay the bills,” he 
replied. 

“ Thank you, doctor; I will consider your reason- 
able conditions, but to-day I will enjoy the privilege 
of choosing and paying according to my own taste 
and ability.” 

The silly fellow considered his escape a narrow 
one, and went away thankful that she had not said 
yes at once ; and determined he would not risk his 
liberty by giving her another opportunity of catch- 
ing him up at his word. 

Of course I could not recommend Paris to him 
after this evidence that the sight of fineries and 
fashion did not render women oblivious of intrigue 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


239 


and husbandry, and I took up a paper to see what 
steamers were advertised to sail. 

The Aspinwall steamers were the first on the 
column, and 1 told him how scarce women were in 
California. 

His reading was not very general; the. classics 
at college, with a few books for recreation, among 
which Burns’ Poems and a History of Witchcraft 
in New England seemed to leave the most last- 
ing impression; and his travels were not worth 
speaking of; so he submitted himself to my guid- 
ance. 

I could see that, instead of being a ‘^blighted” 
man by being ‘‘jilted” and “ rejected,” he had 
gained more energy, and I at once put him in the 
way of securing a passage and making his prepa- 
rations while the steamer was awaiting the ap- 
pointed day. 

The evening was pleasantly spent, and when 
the doctor was bidding me farewell he declared 
that he had never before understood me, and that 
henceforth he would count me as the only friend 
he had; in fact, that we would throw all old rivalry 
“to the winds, as the witch threw the tail of Tam 
O’Shanter’s mare,” and a new feeling of friendship 
would “ spring up, like a phoenix, from the ashes 
of the past.” 

I was amused at his conceit of being a former 
rival, and promised that when Mr. Davenport died 
he should be welcome to renew his old flirtation 
without the fear of incurring my enmity ; but he 


240 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


protested that Rosamond had taught him a lesson 
which he would never forget. 

The passage was secured, and the doctor returned 
from New York to put his house in order before 
his departure. 

He did not go near the house, however, but sent 
instructions to a servant, who had what things he 
wanted to take with him packed up and sent to 
him, while he made arrangements with his at- 
torney. 

He spent every evening with me while waiting 
for the day of sailing, and I found him to be what 
I had supposed him to be when my opportunities 
for judging him were less, — a good-natured, indo- 
lent man, perhaps injured by fortune, which had 
smiled upon him from his birth, and never gave 
him a good opportunity of developing those traits 
of character which self-dependence alone can bring 
out. 

When bidding me a final farewell, he voluntarily 
promised to write to me, but on condition that I 
would not tell Rosamond where he had gone to, 
for he said that he did not wish the woman before 
whom his pride had fallen to know where he 
breathed, or remember how near she was to hav- 
ing him. I was surprised that he did not add, he 
was afraid she might repent of her cruelty, and 
seek to draw him back to the heart which had 
spurned his love. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


I HAVE made no account of years, months, or 
seasons in this story, maybe because I wished to 
keep my ladies as young as possible ; for, having 
dealt impartially with their characters, I ought to 
atone, in a measure, by letting them remain as 
young as I found them. I would still continue 
this policy, only I think that ladies can be interest- 
ing after they are twenty, and remain unmarried ; 
though Miss Rosy had repeatedly decided to the 
contrary. But I have not consulted them with 
reference to the characters, and I suppose I need 
not with regard to the ages I have given them, un- 
less I take the ungallant position that the sex are 
more particular in concealing their years than their 
tempers and follies, which Heaven forbid that I 
would or could. 

Eighteen months had elapsed since I first met 
Lucy ; thirteen since the family moved out on the 
farm; ten since Mr. Davenport had married Sarah; 
seven since Robert’s departure for South America, 
and five since the hegira of Dr. Leander Boynton ; 
but 3^et time had taken nothing from the bloom and 
freshness of my female friends. 

Robert was a merchant, for he had made a few 
shipments of merchandise ; and, though his profits 
21 ( 241 ) 


242 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


on them had not been great, yet they had been 
sufficient to encourage him to try again. 

I went out to the farm occasionally, and was, 
by this time, welcomed as if nothing had ever 
happened to mar the harmony of old feelings; for 
things flowed on there nearly as smoothly as ever, 
owing to the exercise of good sense by all parties. 

One morning, as the mail was brought in by my 
friend who was so much interested in the ‘‘ Rustic 
S” letters, he held up a diminutive note for me, and 
begged that I would cut out the monogram for 
him. I looked at it, and the little knowledge I 
had of Rosamond’s handwriting, together with the 
monogram of her name, enabled me to guess who 
the sender was. 

I did not waste time in surmising what its con- 
tents might be ; but, after looking a moment at the 
superscription, I opened it to see to what strange 
incident I was indebted for her correspondence. 

I was horror-stricken by the intelligence the few 
lines contained. Three nights before, there had 
been a collision between two large river steamers 
crowded with passengers, and both had been burned 
to the water’s edge. 

Those who had friends on them were filled with 
the direst alarm ; for, while the loss of life was said 
to have been fearful, no one could give any informa- 
tion of the number or the names of the rescued, 
and all feared the worst for their own friends. 

Lucy was among the passengers. By what acci- 
dent she, who had never before left home, was 


TT^^S' SHE ENGAGED? 


243 


there, Eosamoiid did not wait to write me; but the 
boat she was on was particularly unfortunate in the 
loss of her passengers. The letter was dated the 
evening before, and I knew that Rosamond ex- 
pected me every moment since then; so, after 
explaining the reason for absenting myself, I hur- 
ried to the hotel at which Rosamond was awaiting 
me, to give her any aid in my power. 

I met her’ looking deathly pale, and almost fren- 
zied by fear and impatience ; for she had not slept 
all night, nor eaten anything since she had left 
home. 

A few hurried words explained all she knew : 
her uncle’s widow had started for the North, and, 
being taken very ill at Louisville, telegraphed to 
Rosamond to come to her. 

Rosamond had typhoid fever at the time, and, to 
keep her from attempting to go, Lucy volunteered 
to take her place. 

With the few instructions she could get to travel 
with, she proceeded on her journey, telegraphing 
her safe arrival at Pittsburg and Cincinnati, and 
mentioning the name of the boat on which she was 
to go down to Louisville that evening. 

Prostrated and almost helpless as Rosamond had 
been, when Mrs. Davenport told her about the 
accident, the shock gave her power to act, and, 
with the will and energy of her character, she 
came to the city to obtain such intelligence as she 
could by telegraphing to her aunt. 

Nothing could be learned, and she asked for my 


244 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


escort to the place of the disaster, for Mr. Daven- 
port in his feeble state could not be of any service, 
and the news of the accident was kept from his 
ears by his wife and niece. 

I tried to persuade Rosamond to remain at the 
hotel and let me go alone, as I thought the jour- 
ney, in her present state of health, would be sui- 
cidal ; but she was resolute, and insisted that she 
could bear it. 

Her self-control and resolution were wonderful, 
for her grief was intense, and yet she made no 
display of it. 

She was morally certain that Lucy was lost, and 
looked upon herself as blamable for it in letting 
her take her place. 

We went on the first train going West, and, 
while my anxiety for Lucy’s safety was as deep as 
if she had been my betrothed, my concern for my 
companion was not a bit less. 

But she held up under sickness, fatigue, and 
grief with wonderful fortitude, and she reached 
Cincinnati not much worse than when we set out. 

There was a boat going down the river to the 
wreck, crowded with anxious friends looking for 
the missing, and it was then I had a good oppor- 
tunity of comparing Rosamond in sorrow with the 
seemingly careless and impulsive girl I had known 
in joy and sunshine. 

While others were loudly lamenting and be- 
wailing their lost or imperiled friends, she sat 
calmly by my side, tormented alike by pain and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


245 


anxiety, but needing none of the efforts and en- 
treaty which were required to keep others of her 
sex within the bounds of sanity and discretion. 

If pride could be justified under such circum- 
stances, I would be proud of the martyr-like spirit 
exhibited by the woman I had with me ; and this, 
together with the way she had rid herself of the 
doctor the moment he presumed too much on her 
good nature, made her, in my estimation, worthy 
of even Hobert’s love and confidence. 

I caught myself several times, even in the midst 
of the distress and excitement which surrounded 
me, thinking that if Luey was lost, her secret would 
be safe with me ; and however much Robert and 
Rosamond would mourn her untimely end, it would 
be only as for a fiower that had perfumed their 
path ; and, little dreaming that the sweetness of her 
heart had been crushed out between them, they 
would live and love as well without her, scarcely 
aflTected by her tragic fate. 

There is something so inefltably touching in the 
thought of young love like hers going unrewarded, 
unspoken, and unsuspected to the grave, — the true, 
warm heart mingling with the cold, unfeeling clay, 
— that friendship and romance demand a sacrifice 
or a monument to it, and, as I had no hope of 
dying of a broken heart, I sat planning my life for 
a monument, while supporting Rosamond, there 
being no one more bounden, since I had discovered 
her secret, and sought her love for myself. 

But the idea of living to the memory of the 
21 * 


246 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


dead is premature, there being as yet no evidence 
that Lucy was dead. Every one who had friends 
on the steamers were fearing the worst, and mourn- 
ing them as lost, and yet it was reported that more 
than half were saved. 

We arrived at the place of the accident towards 
evening, and representing Rosamond’s condition 
to the captain of the boat I secured a state-room 
for her use during the night, while I hurried among 
the houses and barns on the shore where the res- 
cued were sheltered and those of the corpses which 
had been found were collected. 

I had great difficulty in persuading Rosamond to 
comply with this arrangement, and would not have 
succeeded at all only I represented to her that she 
would delay my search, and that by leaving her in 
possession of the state-room we would have it for 
Lucy’s use, in case she was found injured. 

I was forced to promise her solemnly that I would 
return the moment I had found Lucy or learned 
any tidings of her, whether I was able to bring 
Lucy with me or not. 

The replies to my inquiries on the shore were 
even more discouraging than the accounts in the 
city. There were a great many women among the 
passengers, and the few men on board had all they 
could do in assisting those of their own party, 
which left many others, who were traveling under 
no one’s especial care, without other resource than 
their strength and presence of mind. The lost 
were mostly of the latter class, therefore, and as I 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


247 


visited the houses and barns without success I be- 
came almost as hopeless as Rosamond. 

After a few hours’ search I returned to the boat, 
fearing to leave Rosamond alone too long, and the 
only comfort I could offer to the poor girl was that 
several were reported to have wandered back from 
the shore for food and clothing, as the supply, as 
well as the shelter, was limited in the immediate 
vicinity of the wrecks. 

This was but a slender hope for either of us to 
hang to, as it was evident that the ladies did not 
belong to this class of unfortunates. I persuaded 
her to take some wine to sustain her, and had one 
of the physicians put laudanum enough in it to 
secure her a night’s repose, while I went on shore 
to assist in the further search for the bodies of the 
lost. 

Morning brought no comfort to us ; none of those 
who had been in the interior had heard of any 
lady passengers being there, none that were on the 
boat could remember having seen one of Lucy’s 
description on it, and none of the bodies which 
had been recovered could be identified as hers. 

As the boat we came down in was returning 
that day, and I could not persuade Rosamond to 
return with it and await me in Cincinnati, I had 
her transferred to another boat, just arrived;^ and 
then I searched the country all around, going 
every place to which I had learned women had 
been taken. 

There was now no use in hoping against hope. 


218 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and I was compelled to confess as mncli to Rosa- 
mond; it would be foolish to try to conceal the 
fact from her and keep her longer in suspense. 

They were clearing out the wrecks as fast as 
they could, and every hour discovering the remains 
of some unfortunate, many of them so charred that 
it was impossible to identify them. At last it was 
reported that a female form had been taken out 
which might possibly be recognized by her friends, 
and hurrying to the spot I found my worst fears 
realized. 

The whole scene was a sickening one, and the 
account of it cannot be otherwise, so I will hurry 
through it as fast as possible, by merely stating 
that there was nothing by which the poor victim 
could be identified save some of the golden braids, 
which even the pitiless flames passed lightly over, 
while they ravaged everything else. 

Youth and beauty, form and flesh, were marred 
and shrunken, and even the hair would have been 
entirely destroyed, but that in falling, the back of 
her head came in contact with something that ex- 
tinguished or smothered the fire upon it. 

I told Rosamond, and, much against my wishes, 
she insisted upon viewing the body ; but there was 
no scene, for she calmly pronounced it Lucy’s re- 
mains, and we took them with us to Cincinnati 
that night. 

There was never before in my experience any- 
thing more difficult for me to realize than that the 
young, beautiful, and pure-minded friend, who a 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


249 


few weeks before had promised me a sister’s in- 
terest, had left behind to us only the poor black- 
ened corpse we had with us in place of herself. 

It was, and is yet, a wonder to me that Rosa- 
mond could have survived the fatigue and shock 
of the adventure, considering the state of her health 
when she set out from home ; and I believe if it 
had been any other woman of my acquaintance 
who had undergone her trials, I would have re- 
turned with two corpses instead of one. 

She bore up bravely under all, displaying more 
strength than could be expected, even under more 
favorable circumstances. 

Hay, more : believing that I, as Lucy’s lover, 
needed comfort, the generous girl was as cheerful 
as she could be, and expressed many a sympathetic 
hope, looking to a blissful meeting and immor- 
tality beyond the grave. 

This, too, from one who had hitherto borne a 
reputation for thoughtlessness, as far as the future 
life was concerned ; but from this time a change 
had marked her character, deep, silent, and pro- 
gressive. How to break the intelligence to Mr. 
Davenport was a question we were at some con- 
cern about; for we feared it might result in instant 
death to him, as his dependence on Lucy’s care was 
returning fast, and it was only his benevolence and 
hospitality that made him consent to let her under- 
take the journey, and become a nurse to the invalid 
who had attempted to come Horth to visit them. 

A suitable coffin was procured, and I telegraphed 


250 


Tr^5' SHE ENGAGED? 


to Mrs. Davenport that Lucy was dead, and her 
remains recovered. 

The relics of our friend were in due time con- 
veyed to the village nearest to the farm, and pre- 
pared for interment ; but Mr. Davenport was not 
yet informed of the disaster. 

Sarah met us, with true sorrow expressed in her 
face, and said she could recognize the corpse very 
easily ; though we could not have done so if the 
hair had not been preserved, since all else was sadly 
charred. 

‘‘ We are glad you can,” said Rosamond, for all 
we can identify her by is her hair, and maybe her 
father would never be satisfied with such a recog- 
nition.” 

Everything seems natural to me,” said Sarah, 
laying her fingers on the parted lips and looking at 
her teeth; “there certainly can be no doubt.” 

We assented to what she said, and she continued 
to reassure us. Then she observed, — 

“You know how sensitive Mr. Davenport is of 
any blot or deformity in what he sees ; his nature 
revolts at it, and his art has strengthened the feel- 
ing until it is almost a disease with him; and if 
we tell him how disfigured she was, it will be add- 
ing fire to his torment, — he was always so proud 
of her beauty. I think, therefore, we had better 
say nothing about the burning; drowning will not 
be nearly so revolting to him, as he has often said 
drowning was the easiest way of dying; and there 
will be no deception used, as the poor girl was both 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


251 


burned and drowned. Besides, no doubt of her 
identity will exist in his mind, as there might if 
we told him how little of her former beauty was 
left to establish if 

“ Yes, it would be better to bury an empty coffin 
than leave room for a doubt ; he will sooner be- 
come reconciled to it as a certainty ; and, even if 
we could not positively affirm that we have the 
right body, we are certain that she was not rescued, 
and must, therefore, be lost,” I said, in reply. 

Sarah, who had been freely weeping all this 
time, cast a look of appreciation upon me, and then 
said, — 

I will now leave you to proceed with the burial, 
and return, lest he should miss me, as I left him 
asleep. He has been asking for you all the time, 
Rosy, and I have been obliged to tell him that you 
could not come down-stairs yet. Oh, dear, what 
shall we do at last, when the whole truth must be 
told to him ?” 

Though Milton says, — 

I Neither man nor angel can discern 
Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks 
Invisible, except to God alone, ^ 

I fancied then that I could discern it both in Sa- 
rah’s tears and in her last piteous exclamations. 
Whether the great author is right or wrong, he is 
not consistent; for he makes Uriel soon discern 
hypocrisy in Satan’s looks, and a human being has 
not more art in dissembling than the author of the 
art itself. 


252 


SHE ENGAGED? 


As Sarah turned away, Rosamond took her fare- 
well look at the remains, and exclaimed, as she 
pressed her lips to those in the coffin, — 

Farewell, poor Lucy ! sweet, even in death, are 
the lips that have never spoken guile or deceit in 
life ! Of such are the angels in heaven ; and may 
you live with them, dear!” And then she turned 
from them and wept, while the lid of the coffin was 
being fastened on. 

The very skies, bright as they were when we 
came to the village, became lowering and over- 
shadowed, and not a face among the villagers, few 
of whom had seen much of her, that was not 
clouded with genuine sorrow. 

I have not attended many funerals in my time ; 
but I know there are few as solemn and impressive 
as this one was, otherwise our race would care 
less for earth and its pomps, and think more of the 
bright world beyond it. 

As the minister, in his prayer, said, ‘‘We now 
commit the body Thou hast given her to its native 
earth, to await the sound of the trumpet that shall 
awake it, and unite it with the soul and with 
Thee, in never-fading beauty, and everlasting life, 
through Christ, its Redeemer, amen it seemed 
to me that the trumpet would sound at once; that 
now, on the spot, the end of time had come, and, 
before the coffin could be lowered, she would rise 
from it in the beauty of a celestial body and the 
triumph of immortality. 

While they were singing the requiem in the sim- 


WAS SITE ENGAGED? 


253 


plicity of true grief around the grave, I still waited, 
expecting to hear the sound, while the tears fell 
fast from my eyes. 

‘‘Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not 
all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, 
in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump : for 
the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be 
raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.” 

Every word of the promise of the great doctrine 
of the resurrection of the body was in my mind at 
the time, waiting for fulfillment; every comma 
and semicolon in the sentence was visible to my 
mind, and I waited to see Lucy’s new body, to feel 
the vital fluid of immortal life course through my 
own sluggish veins, and to claim her again for my 
sister in heaven. 

The hymn was sung, the earth was thrown on 
the cofiin, the grave was filled up, and I did not 
arouse from my trance, but, unconscious that the 
service was over and the people had departed, I 
stood there blinded with tears, until the fellow- 
mourner who leaned on my arm said to me, in 
sweet, sorrowful accents, — 

“ ‘ Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of th^ soul I’ 

y tt r : 

Her comforting quotation had its eflfect on me, 
and I turned from my own thoughts to her who 
was weaker in body but much stronger in spirit, 
and in hope, than I was. 

We were driven to the house without delay, 
22 


254 


WAS SITE ENGAGED? 


Rosamond giving me one of the tresses she had 
cut oft* before the coffin had been closed, and we 
were met by Mrs. Davenport at the door, who told 
us that Mr. Davenport had been awake for nearly 
an hour, and suspected the whole thing, because 
of some uneasy dreams which he had. 

He heard the sound of our voices, and called 
aloud for us to come to him. 

There was no way of delaying the dreaded 
moment, or avoiding it, and we went to him, pale 
and terrified enough to convince him that his fears 
w^ere true. 

‘‘ Rosy, what have you done with Lucy ? Where 
have you laid my darling, for I know she is dead ? 
Oh, my darling ! My darling, beautiful Lucy !” 

‘‘ Oh, uncle ! Will you forgive me ?” was all she 
could say, and she fell forward against his bed, 
prostrated at last by grief and exhaustion. 

‘‘ I know you have buried her, — I saw it all ! 
Oh, my child ! my beautiful, loving child ! There is 
no more wealth on earth for me now without her! 
God help me now, and God forgive the wrong I 
have done her he cried. 

There was not a dry cheek in the room as 
he continued to bewail the loss of his idol, and 
no one could say one word to console him; for 
words, in his state of mind, would be little better 
than a mockery. 

At last he cried out, — 

Oh, speak to me, some one I Sarah, Rosy, Ed- 
ward Pearson, what did she say? Did she forgive 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


255 


me ? What message has she left for me, ray angel? 
It is no nse to hide anything from me ! I know 
you have buried her, for I saw the grave open and 
her coffin let into it !” 

This is all : the steamboat sunk with her ; and 
would to God that I, rather, had sunk with it, and 
died for her, uncle cried Rosamond, drawing one 
of the golden braids from her bosom. 

‘‘ My darling ! my darling ! this is all that is left 
of so much perfection! — this poor, cold, clammy 
lock, — beautiful in death, like herself!’’ he ex- 
claimed, pressing it to his lips, and taking no fur- 
ther notice of what Rosamond had said. 

The lock was dry and warm, but the coldness 
and glue were on his lips, and he stroked it and 
kissed it, as if to bring the gloss of life back to it. 

Suddenly he was taken with a spasmodic breath- 
ing, and, looking defiantly at his wife, he ex- 
claimed, — 

‘‘ My child has been always a dutiful one ; she 
has never, by word, thought, or act, given me cause 
for offense; and I believe she never would, had 
God spared her and me for twenty- one years 
longer.” 

He turned to me, as if expecting me to confirm 
his words ; and, understanding the language of his 
expression, I did so ; for I thought he was dying, 
and did not then care how much suspicion my 
words would cast upon Sarah. 

Gradually he became calmer, and stroking the 
hair seemed to soothe him. 


256 ‘ 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


How beautiful, my poor darling ! just the color 
and texture of an angel’s,’’ he cried, and his hand 
stole over Rosamond’s head, which was buried in 
the bedclothes, and he blessed her for preserving 
the hair for him, and paying the last duty to his 
lost darling. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


It is time to follow Robert now in his search 
for fortune, and show how he prospered in it, as 
well as how his correspondence with Rosamond, 
from which he had hoped for so much, turned out. 
It seemed impossible that when he was absent I 
could have thoughts or events to sustain the story, 
considering that he is its hero ; but, alas ! how 
easily the best of men can be spared from their 
places, and when they leave the world, it goes on 
just as well without them, as if they never had 
anything to do with its progress. 

Sometimes there is a convulsive shock given to 
its motion, and things seem to halt in a limited 
area, when a champion of liberty, progressiveness, 
or humanity is suddenly lost, as at the time the 
tidings of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination was 
flashed over our land. But even that is local and 
brief, for next day everything proceeds as usual; 
and, with new leaders, we quietly and steadily re- 
sume our onward march. 

I wrote to Robert, and received letters from 
him by every mail ; and, as I had promised, kept 
him posted on the markets, while he bought and 
shipped, as he was encouraged by his success. He 
was, also, up to the events of the last chapter, in 
22 ^ ( 257 ) 


258 


WAS SUE ENGAGED? 


correspondence with Lucy, who wrote him all the 
home news that could amuse and interest him ; 
and every letter she sent him filled his heart with 
joy, as it was long, earnest, and affectionate. 

With Rosamond he was not so happy in his cor- 
respondence; there was something unsatisfactory 
in her letters, that made them as much a mystery 
as herself was sometimes to him. 

He waited impatiently for each one, hoping it 
would not prove like the previous letters; but, after 
he had got it, there was some undefinable wish that 
it had sunk in the ocean before it had reached him, 
as the anticipation was pleasanter than the letter 
itself. 

One paragraph, and sometimes one clause, would 
seem to contradict the preceding one, as if she was 
trying to say more than she felt, or else she was 
afraid to say all. 

He weighed every sentence, and examined every 
thought with distrust and eagerness, as if it had 
been written by a diplomatist, and contained more 
or less meaning than was apparent to the eye or 
could be understood in the common sense. 

Her caution was both amusing and provoking to 
him ; for neither his nor her name was inside of 
the envelope, — ‘‘ Dear Friend” being used to desig- 
nate her lover, and R” standing, like a solitary 
sentinel, for herself. 

He remembered her repeated ridicule of the in- 
sufferable conceit of some men, who were afraid 
to be gallant, or even polite, to a marriageable 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


259 


woman, lest she was waiting to pounce upon some 
incautious expression and distort it into a promise, 
of even Pickwickian mildness, for legal arbitra- 
tion ; but now she was taken in the same cautionary 
conduct herself, and, whatever her tongue might 
confess, though she had been non-committal enough 
with that, her pen would never prove anything 
against her. 

Was she engaged to him or was she not, in the 
spirit of their agreement? he asked himself to de- 
termine from her letters ; but they would not be 
evidence, and he tried to countermine the strategic 
coquetry he suspected them of covering by writing 
formal business-letters, hoping that she would be- 
come solicitous by his apparent coldness, and write 
more affectionately, to reclaim her power and her 
place in his heart. 

He delayed writing longer than usual, wrote a 
shorter letter than was customary with him, and, 
from beginning to end, not a word was admitted 
which might not have been written by a dry senior 
in a mercantile house to the foreign partner in 
China. 

Without telling her whether he was sick or 
sound, warm or cold, or sad or cheerful near the 
equator, he merely reported the success of some 
operations on their joint account, and discussed 
the prospect of following them with others equally, 
if not more, profitable. 

Then followed a few paragraphs on the proba- 
bilities of the markets in the United States ad- 


260 


f:45' she engaged? 


vancing or declining while the merchandise was on 
the waj", the rates of exchange, marine insurance, 
freight, and duty, and the comparative merits of 
steam- and sail-tonnage. 

As he put his most formal and imposing signa- 
ture to this, he felt that he had already achieved a 
decided success, and he waited to triumph over his 
superior skill and tact. 

He left Rosamond’s tact and penetration out of 
mind, however; for he was writing to no silly, 
love-sick schoolgirl ; but to a girl with a shrewd, 
quick intellect, who at once comprehended his tac- 
tics, and had wit and spirit enough to appreciate 
them, and give him an opportunity of proving their 
merits. 

To match his letter, Rosamond took a large sheet 
of blue commercial, and then got a copy of the 
‘‘ Economist,” which she searched for terms and 
mercantile lore wholly unknown to her before, not- 
withstanding her taste for speculation and finance; 
and then, lest she should expose herself to his criti- 
cism by getting the technical terms in the wrong 
place, she copied sentences whole, where they were 
most knotty and terse. 

In this way she prepared a long and intelligible 
business-letter, which thoroughly informed him of 
the state of the markets, besides containing a short 
article on Peruvian bark; which she digested, and 
then reproduced in her own words for his consid- 
eration. 

It was like most business-letters, condensed at 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


261 


the expense of grammar; the pronoun “I” was 
wholly ignored, and was signed Rosamond Hey- 
wood,^’ in full, as boldly as the character of the 
letter could authorize her. 

It was evident that Robert, who was longing for 
a few words of affection, was not the iron will des- 
tined to crush the sweetness out of her; and when 
he read the letter he had misgivings to that effect. 
He was, however, pleased with it, — she evidently 
understood why he wrote to her with so much for- 
mality, and fell in with his vein readily enough to 
please him ; and he thought, with pride and satis- 
faction, of the patient research and exhaustive labor 
it must have cost her to collect and compose its 
matter, while he laughed at her ambition to be 
conqueror, and at her success in shaping her phrases 
into the most unexceptionable business parlance. 

It did not require a strain of his imagination to 
see her as she contemplated her letter for the last 
time before sealing it; her bright eyes sparkling 
with pleasure as she carefully read her squarely 
written lines, and her face flushed and smiling as 
she pronounced aloud, to her own satisfaction, 
words which she thought would puzzle him. 

He could imagine her coquettish glee as she 
thought he would grow more amazed at every sen- 
tence, and impatient as he searched in vain for 
one line which even the most subtle sophist could 
twist into an expression of tenderness or interest. 

It was not long before this that my letter, giving 
him a lengthy, and perhaps exaggerated, account 


262 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


of Dr. Boynton’s rejection had put him in a good 
humor with her, and he then thought she was his 
own betrothed without doubt; so now he was pre- 
pared to look upon anything in her handwriting 
with rapturous eyes, and the effect of this letter 
on the whole was only to prove that she was clever 
at anything she undertook, and never wanting 
words or thoughts to meet any exigency, with the 
wit and promptness so characteristic of herself. 

The maiden’s hand, which is kept for a man to 
the exclusion of other suitors, ought to do every- 
thing well in the eyes of her lover, especially when 
one of those suitors had all that a woman could ask 
for, except brains. 

The doctor had as much of what is desirable 
in a husband as usually falls to the portion of one 
man, and few women would have rejected him 
when there was not a formal engagement to w^arrant 
them in such a refusal. 

Robert w^as, however, determined not to let Rosa- 
mond conquer, as it would be a bad precedent for 
their married life ; and he continued to write his 
business-letters, hoping that she would get tired of 
them and show some signs of relenting. 

The same determination seemed to have pos- 
sessed her mind, however, only as she exhausted 
her stock of mercantile terms by sending them off* 
too prodigally at ffrst, her letters gradually became 
shorter, until at length she could say no more 
in a business way than could be put into a few 
sentences. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


263 


Robert could endure it no longer. Her letters 
would chill the ardor of any lover; for, full of 
eager expectation, he would open a sheet of “com- 
mercial note,’’ to find only a few words written on 
the middle of the first page. 

At last his indignation overflowed upon getting 
one so unprecedently brief that he acknowledged 
it as a telegram, and even then told her that she 
had not availed herself of her privilege, as ten 
words were allowed in a regulation message. He 
concluded by remarking that ideas must be worth 
more now than when she and he had spent so 
many pleasant hours roaming over the hills to- 
gether, or else her time must be more profitably 
employed, since she could not spare more of either 
in writing to an old friend. 

The note was begun more formally than he was 
able to conclude it, for he addressed her as 
“madam,” and to this she took exception, but 
wrote in reply a much longer letter than any 
written during the three previous months. 

She hoped he would forgive her for correcting 
him, but he had made a serious mistake in confer- 
ring the title of “ madam” upon her, an honor 
which belonged exclusively to married and elderly 
ladies, and as she did not belong to either class, her 
honesty and modesty shrunk from accepting it be- 
fore time had thrust it upon her, which would be 
quite as soon as she wished for it. 

This was exactly what Robert had expected. He 
knew that addressing young ladies as “ madam” 


264 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


was-unusual, and changing his mode of addressing 
her would arouse her curiosity and lead her to 
question both his motives and his correctness in so 
doing. 

It was not according to Rosamond’s notions of 
etiquette or usage to madam’’ a lady before she 
had entered the state of matrimony, and she would 
combat its propriety with all her heart, while he 
knew that he could quote authority for its correct- 
ness, and at the same time acquit himself of any 
desire of depreciating her youth or respectability. 

Before he had written the letter, he had been 
looking over the Bride of Lammermoor,” in which 
the young lord of Ravenswood is made to address 
Lucy Ashton several times as madam,” and as it 
sounded odd and formal, coupled with a young 
maid of seventeen, he rightly supposed that Rosa- 
mond would at once correct him if he addressed 
her so, without suspecting the trap he was setting 
for her. 

What she hastily regarded as derogatory to her 
reputation for youth, could be easily proved to be 
both proper and complimentary after she had been 
drawn into an argument, by advancing her favor- 
ite author for authority, and showing that it had 
been used by the passionate young Ravenswood in 
addressing a girl of Lucy Ashton’s age, character, 
and condition. 

He replied that he was led into the error, if such 
it was, by her favorite novelist, a much better 
authority than himself, and therefore he ought to 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


265 


be excused for doing what so responsible a historian 
permitted to be done between parties whose honor 
and respectability on the one hand, and youth and 
virtue on the other, have never been called in 
question. 

He well knew that she would turn to Scott at 
once, and discover that in that interview between 
Ravenswood and Lucy Ashton, the lover was in- 
dignant at what he considered the falseness of the 
maiden whom he so formally addressed, which 
would lead Rosamond to discover her own delin- 
quency, if she had not thought of it seriously 
before. 

She appeared to be satisfied that he was right, 
however, using her woman’s privilege of not being 
expected to confess it; and whether she took the 
hint that he considered himself ill treated or not, 
she discontinued the correspondence altogether. 

He only heard of her through Lucy or through 
me ; for she sent many friendly messages to him 
through the former, and he continued as before 
shipping and trading to get fortune enough to 
enable him to marry, however much he felt dis- 
couraged by the discontinuance of her letters. 

But at last one steamer arrived in South America 
without a letter from Lucy in its mail-bags, and 
that same steamer brought him letters from Rosa- 
mond and myself, announcing the sad loss of his 
best correspondent. 

There was no more speculation ; the fortune he 
thought necessary to possess before he married 
23 


266 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


was not won ; yet he no longer sought it, but came 
home in the first steamer. 

The correspondence which he had fondly hoped 
would have opened Rosamond’s heart to him, and 
wean her from her habit of bandying compli- 
mentary phrases with him, was therefore a failure. 
She had not written one word expressive of love, 
she had not permitted him to feel that his motives 
in going to South America in search of wealth were 
different from those of other adventurers, and if 
she had betrayed a deep interest in his success, 
she was careful to deny other motives than those 
of a friend, and a partner in his speculations. 

If the girl had a heart at all, it was so incrusted 
by caution and coquetry that it could not be reached. 

Her father, who had been a judge, would doubt- 
less be proud of her tact and craftiness had he 
lived ; but a lover is not a lawyer, and cannot ap- 
preciate the skill and diplomacy Rosamond had 
shown. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


Robert surprised me one day, after dinner, by 
presenting himself before me with a luxuriant 
growth of beard on his bronzed face. I knew that 
he had not realized a fortune by the few turns he 
had made with his little capital, and yet he had en- 
couragement enough to have continued his opera- 
tions, so earnestly and auspiciously begun. 

A few hurried words explained his reasons for 
coming back so unexpectedly when he was ap- 
parently prospering; and a new subject for thought 
was opened to me. 

It seemed strange that a man who went to a for- 
eign country to win wealth for one woman, should 
be so deeply affected by the death of another that 
his purpose was abandoned, and he returned as far 
from the realization of his hopes as he was when he 
went away. Such, however, was the case with him, 
for the death of Lucy broke down his speculative 
spirit as completely as if it had been for her that 
he went to make the fortune. 

She might have been as dear to him as a sister ; 
but it is only in isolated cases that even a sister’s 
death will make a man forget his duty to his future 
wife. 

Had he not been Rosamond’s lover in his own 

( 267 ) 


268 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


estimation, and also in the estimation of others, I 
should have supposed that he and Lucy had loved 
each other, and that it was for her sake he had 
left his home ; for the first words he uttered, after 
he had taken my hand, and controlled his emotions 
enough to speak, were, — 

‘‘ SodLjUcy is no more V’ 

The utter misery that was concentrated in these 
five words brought the tears to my eyes, and, com- 
paring his despair with what I had seen Lucy be- 
tray the day I was refused by her, I saw at once 
the mistake Kobert had made, and the sad result 
of it. 

The artist's daughter, who needed no other wealth 
than that which usually fell to the lot of artists, was 
the most fitting wife for him ; she was the one he 
loved in the deep, quiet way which her character 
inspired, and his fancy for Rosamond was all forced 
by the novelty of her return to Mr. Davenport’s, 
the excitement of their rivalry in wit, and their 
flirtations with each other. 

Sarah had monopolized his attentions before 
Lucy had grown up, and he had never questioned 
his feelings towards the latter, because he was 
always near her, and the tenor of their intercourse 
had been so free and even that nothing had inter- 
fered to mark the period when they had ceased to 
love as children and became mature lovers. 

When Rosamond amused him, after her return, 
and I had expressed my preference for Lucy, he set 
her apart for me in his mind, mistaking my admi- 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


269 


ration for love, and his love for Platonic friend- 
ship. 

The same friendly misunderstanding misled me, 
too; for I thought he loved Rosamond from the mo- 
ment she had returned, and, looking upon Lucy as 
my legitimate prize, I constituted myself her lover 
until her answer discovered my mistake. 

We walked over to his old rooms, and then down 
to the house Mr. Davenport lived in when I first 
knew him ; but the pleasant evening, with the gay 
scenes it presents in city life, and the familiar looks 
of our favorite streets and buildings, had no in- 
terest for him; we could think of nothing, and 
therefore speak of nothing, but only of her who 
was now no more, and the graces and qualities 
which had charmed us both. 

There seemed to be an endless list of them, for 
we never before had time to recount them all; 
greater ones had obscured the minor from our 
vision when they shone in her life ; but now, in 
the gloom of the grave, we could see them all, and 
beauties of every degree filled our view. 

He said nothing of his feelings towards Rosa- 
mond, nor spoke of her, except in connection with 
the death and burial of her cousin, and yet he did 
not suspect the inconsistency of losing so much 
interest in the one he professed to love. 

He left the city next morning for the farm, having 
first shaved off his beard, to make himself as pre- 
sentable as possible after his rough life in the south- 
ern latitudes. 


23 * 


270 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


Kosamond was the first one whom he met as he 
entered the theater of so many joyful and home- 
like scenes, and, with infectious tears in her eyes, 
she welcomed him home. 

There was simply a warm clasp of the hand, and 
a few hurried inquiries and answers in regard to 
each other’s welfare, and then Rosamond left him 
to inform Mr. Davenport of his arrival and prepare 
him for the surprise. 

Mr. Davenport never knew why Robert went to 
South America. He was aware that he intended 
buying merchandise there, and becoming, in some 
measure, a merchant; but he thought that trading 
was only an auxiliary to painting, and that Robert, 
with Church’s famous painting of the ‘‘ Heart of 
the Andes” in his mind, wanted to study tropical 
scenery in emulation of that great and adventurous 
landscape painter. 

He gave Robert a tremulous welcome, — perhaps 
as a father would welcome back his only remaining 
child, after having seen his favorite ones laid in the 
grave. 

He spoke of Lucy at once; in fact, he spoke of 
her several times every day since she had been 
buried, — sometimes as if she was alive yet, and 
always as if she was still watching by his bedside. 

‘‘I am sorry Lucy is not here to welcome you, 
Robert. She was always the first to hear your 
step on the stairs, in Summer Street, and meet you 
at the library door, and give you a welcome. But 
we have had sad times since then, Robert, and we 


TF^.S' SHE ENG AG ED $ 


271 


all will never meet there again. Family scenes 
and fireside enjoyments are always changing: the 
same persons, the same words and diversions, are 
seldom reproduced in the evening entertainments 
of our lives; new thoughts and scenes are always 
coming up, and old joys and faces are always fall- 
ing off. 

‘‘Lucy has gone from earthly scenes, Robert, — 
gone in person ; but I sometimes feel that her 
spiritual presence is near my bed; she was faithful 
in life, and can be more so in death. See, here is 
one of her tresses, braided as on the morning she 
left us ! It has never been unwound ; but all I can 
do will not bring back the rich gloss it had when 
alive. Do you not perceive the change ?” he said, 
rapidly. 

Robert took it, and acknowledged that it had 
faded and lost some of its sheen and beauty al- 
read3^ Artists could discern shades better than 
Rosamond and I could ; for we thought it was as 
bright and glossy as ever, and the change existed 
only in Mr. Davenport’s imagination ; for he com- 
plained when Rosamond gave it to him, and before 
it had time to fade. 

“ Some day when I am able to go out we will go 
to her resting-place together; she will not be dis- 
turbed because we tread near her; and when I die, 
then lay me down beside her.’^ 

All were affected, as well as Robert, and in a 
few moments Mr. Davenport seemed to forget that 
she was no more, and continued, — 


272 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


“ Lucy does not think that portrait like her, — it 
is so feminine to demur; to be sure, artists cannot 
make canvas look as soft and delicate as the human 
skin, and oils will not make the eyes look as clear 
and bright as the moisture which Nature supplies. 
We are at best but poor imitators of her; for she 
is jealous of her works, and will not supply any 
other artist with the material to rival or compete 
with her in the sublime and beautiful. 

‘‘But I think I have done all art can do in that 
picture ; and if I ever allowed that it did not do 
Lucy justice, it was because I had to acknowl- 
edge that Nature was a greater artist than my- 
self.’^ 

He talked on, as he always did when he had any 
one to listen to him, often seemingly very egotisti- 
"cal, but always mild and entertaining. 

When Robert was left alone with him he was 
asked to repeat the solemn assurance of Lucy's in- 
nocence of any intention of deserting him ; and 
when it was reiterated, he expressed his sorrow for 
having ever listened to anything that wronged her, 
even in thought. 

“Next to Lucy I have injured Edward Pearson, 
by my suspicions, and I shall tell him so when I see 
him again; I tell Lucy so every day, dear angel, 
and I know that she forgives me,^' he said. 

That night, after supper, Robert walked toward 
the graveyard, in which Lucy had been interred. 
Rosamond had offered to go with him and show 
him the grave, but he said he could easily find it; 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


273 


for he naturally wished to have no witness to his 
emotions when he stood by her grave the first 
time. 

There would be no sweeter place on earth than 
this country cemetery to rest in, if the bloom and 
beauty of the turf above them could touch the dead 
senses of those sleeping there. It was a level tract 
of land ; but so tastefully planted with trees and 
rose-bushes, that it looked like a sheltered nook, 
intended by nature to reconcile the village mortals 
to their final sleep when the work of life was 
done. 

One monument alone towered above all the head- 
stones ; it had been raised by the people of the vil- 
lage in memory of a former pastor ; and one per- 
son besides himself appeared seeking communion 
with the spirits of the departed, when Robert walked 
among the graves. 

It was the widow of the pastor who slept beneath 
the monument, and Robert went to her to inquire 
for Lucy’s grave. 

As the old lady saluted him, he said, — 

I have never seen a more lovely spot than this 
is ; it is very creditable to the village to have the 
resting-place of its dead so tastefully kept.” 

Ah, yes ; it used to be well kept, but it has 
been much neglected lately/’ she replied, with a 
sigh, as she looked upon her own unsatisfactory 
eftbrts to make her husband’s grave look as well as 
she longed to see it. The good soul used to think 
it fair and beautiful until her own dead was laid 


274 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


there ; but since then it had not been to her taste 
at all. 

After he had patiently listened to her account of 
her husband’s sickness, death, and burial, together 
with such reminiscences of his life as a pastor’s 
wife likes to dwell upon most, he inquired for the 
grave that held Lucy’s disfigured remains, and left 
the widow to go mourn by it. 

It may be well to remark here, that Robert did 
not yet doubt his love for Rosamond ; for he was 
only conscious that his sorrow for Lucy’s death had 
blunted all other feelings for the present, and had 
made him indifterent to the pleasures and aspira- 
tions of this world in a great measure. He was 
too observant of his own thoughts and feelings not 
to be aware that his engagement with Rosamond 
was almost forgotten, like a dream, in the great 
and ever-present reality that his dearest friend was 
no more ; and he suspected that his love for the 
living ought not to be overshadowed by his grief 
for the dead. But he did not, however, think that 
he had deceived his own heart entirely; for he 
believed that the feelings with which he left home 
would return after the expiration of time, and it 
was only proper now, when death had loosed a 
silver cord, and broken a golden bowl, that his 
mind should be turned away from earthly cares and 
ambition. 

Love was, according to his idea, a sudden pas- 
sion, like that which Sarah had inspired when she 
attacked him with the bloom and coquetry of 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


275 


eighteen years; or like that which he felt when Rosy 
Hey wood had returned a full-grown, frank woman of 
twenty ; and he did not dream that it could grow with 
his body and mind, as quietly and slowly as either. 

He did not enter into a metaphysical inquiry of 
the nature and extent of his loss : deep and sincere 
grief seldom does ; he was merely conscious that 
Lucy was a loss, without asking his heart what part 
of its affections belonged to the dead, and what part 
could be satisfied by the living. 

He sat down by the grave, hardly able to realize 
that the eye that used to kindle with his, and the 
hand that used to be clasped in his when as chil- 
dren they sauntered along the gay streets of the 
city, were now cold in death, and that he could 
be so near the lips which had never spoken a 
peevish or fretful word, and receive no welcome 
from them. 

Tears fell thick and warm from his eyes, and he 
laid his head down on the cold mound and mourned 
on it as he wished to do when he left the house 
alone. 

He finally fell asleep, and in his dream some- 
thing like a Jacob’s ladder presented itself for his 
comfort. Lucy stood beside him and talked over 
their youthful joys and affection, and promised to 
come back often to him if he did not forget her. 

It stormed all that night after he had returned 
home, and his dream, together with the wind and 
rain, kept him awake until daylight. It seemed 
impossible that she could be insensible to the cold 


276 


WAS SHE ENGAGED 9 


and loneliness of the tomb, and several times be 
bad so nearly lost bis reason that be thought of 
getting up and going to take her out of it, as be 
repeated, over and over again, Moore’s lines on 
the Dismal Swamp : 

They made her a grave too cold and damp 
For a soul so warm and true.’^ 

Next morning he devoted to Rosamond, for he 
had not yet said half a dozen words to her in 
private, and he thought she had a claim on his 
confidence which his grief ought not to let him 
forget. 

Their joint ventures had been reasonably suc- 
cessful, and though he had their marriage in mind 
as a matter of course, he had no longer any cares 
about the fortune he once had thought so necessary 
before asking her to marry him. 

He had proved to his own satisfaction that he 
could make money as fast as he wanted it, and he 
was less solicitous of the future now, since Lucy’s 
death had taught him the uncertainty of life, and 
the vanity of being too much concerned for its 
wants. 

He told Rosamond he was sorry that their cor- 
respondence had not continued long enough to 
keep her advised of all the investments she had an 
interest in, after he had announced the result of 
his trading. 

Then there was a slight recrimination ; each one 
blaming the other for the unfortunate issue of the 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


277 


correspondence from which so much was hoped, 
but from which so little was gained. 

At last Robert held out his hand to her, say- 
ing — 

“ Come, Rosy, let us forget this childishness, and 
be good friends, as we always have been.’* 

He meant the childishness of quarreling, but she 
thought he had reference to the childishness of 
sentimentality; because, when she had boasted that 
her letters were good business-letters, he told her 
she might have known that he expected a different 
class of letters from her ; so she said as she placed 
her hand in his, and blushed with pleasure and 
satisfaction at his proposal, — 

‘‘Yes, with all my heart. Bob; it is time we 
should know our minds and our duties better ; we 
are old enough to lay aside childish things now : I 
shall soon be twenty-two, and I am sorry to think 
that I have never yet done anything worthy of a 
woman. *^ 

He clasped her hand firmly in his, and then 
pressing it to his heart in a caressing manner, he 
said, — 

“ Little things should not ruffle the tempers of 
such large children, or interfere with our long and 
pleasant friendship for each other; for we have 
given each other almost an unlimited power over 
our future happiness : you know. Rosy, that I am 
not to get married without your consent, and that 
you have agreed to give it whenever I am ready; 
no matter upon whom I may fix my choice.^’ 

24 


278 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


A shade of disappointment passed over her coun- 
tenance as she saw she had mistaken his meaning, 
and she became uneasy and nervous, her hand 
anxiously seeking her pocket ; but the leaven of 
Mother Eve was still working in her, and putting 
on her old coquettishness of manner, she said, — 
Why, Bob, what an incongruity ! How could 
you be dependent on my consent if I was bound to 
approve of your choice? What a silly country lass 
I would be if I thought that I had gained any 
power over your future happiness by such a one- 
sided bargain as that is ! You forget that I am a 
shrewd business woman, and can see at once that 
such a piece of cajolery is no agreement at all, 
and deserves no more than a laugh from the sharp 
traders we have been/’ 

“Incongruity, cajolery, or by whatever term 
you choose to designate a fair bargain, those were 
the words. I have thought of them too often to 
forget them. Rosy, and repeated them over in my 
mind too many times to be mistaken in the form 
and purport of our agreement. And at the time 
we made it neither of us thought it one-sided, for 
we both gave a full and free consent to it.” 

Her apparent coquetry made him slightly angry, 
and very earnest; and there was a quivering of 
the muscles around her mouth as she answered 
him, — 

“Bob, you said, just now, that we ought to put 
away childishness, and become mature, sensible 
friends. Let us do that, and let our past foolish- 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


279 


ness be forgotten, and with it this subject, and 
bargain, if you wish to call it such/’ 

‘‘Yes, and I say so still. Let us, as sensible 
people, talk plainly, and make plans for our future 
happiness ; but we must begin by showing we can 
keep our words with each other. I will keep mine, 
and I shall hold you to yours, unless you break 
it in spite of me,’’ he said, becoming more per- 
sisting by her apparent desire to avoid the subject. 

There was an expression of pain on her face, but 
she quickly pressed her lips firmly together, and 
became very pale, and then, after a moment, she 
covered all her emotions over with her old look of 
impervious coquettishness, and replied, — 

“ Well, then, I will stand by it; though I would 
much rather you would be your own counselor in 
the aftair, as the happiness or misery of your choice 
will be yours alone.” 

“Is our friendship for each other, then, so light 
and insincere that our matrimonial relations will 
not afiect each other ? If so. Rosy, the spirit and 
intent of our agreement was not understood, at 
least by you,” he said, reproachfully. 

“Oh, no; I hope not. Bob ! I should be un- 
speakably sorry to see you marry a wife unworthy 
of you, and I made this agreement with you be- 
cause I thought you would first give me an oppor- 
tunity of knowing her, and discovering the faults 
she could easily conceal from you until after you 
had married her. But I suppose you thought 
yourself capable of judging. Some dark -eyed 


280 


WAS SUB ENGAGED 9 


beauty of South America you have bespoken, and 
as I must give my consent blindfolded, it is only 
right that I should wish to throw all the respon- 
sibility upon yourself,’’ she quickly returned, with 
more of her old character aroused in her than she 
had shown since the death of Lucy. 

Robert was blind during all this conversation, 
or he could have seen that she was no longer 
coquetting with him ; but he was only the more 
determined to bring the issue about by her appar- 
ent wish to avoid it. He said, — 

‘‘Yes, to be sure I will abide the consequences 
of my rashness. Only give me a ‘ blindfolded con- 
sent,’ for she will not marry me without it.” 

“ First, then, show me her picture or her letters, 
that I may judge whether I am about to do you 
good or harm,” she cried, with a strong efltbrt to 
maintain the composure and cheerfulness of her 
expression. 

“ Oh, hang her letters. Rosy ! they were unworthy 
of her. Mere anonymous sheets of note paper, 
neither signed nor addressed as if she had confi- 
dence in my honor, but feared that I might make 
an improper use of them ; and doubtful of myself, 
since one who ought to know me well doubted me, 
I have burned the miserable apologies for love- 
letters which she sent me,” he cried, becoming 
impatient at the mention of her letters. 

Hearing her letters spoken of so disrespect- 
fully nerved her for the ordeal, and she calmly 
said, — 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


281 


How ungallant of you ! Were they written in 
Spanish or Portuguese?” 

Oh, never mind the letters ! Her picture is 
over here, and after we look at it, then let her 
tongue speak for herself,” he said, putting his arm 
around her and drawing her towards the mantel- 
glass at the other side of the room. 

He flattered himself, poor fellow, that she was 
waiting for him, and, little heart as he had for fol- 
lowing her teasing and evasive humor, the fate of 
Dr. Boynton was in his mind, and he thought there 
ought to be no more room for her wit and coquetry 
to deny their relations to each other. 

There was no longer a way to avoid what she 
dreaded; she saw her own self reflected in the 
glass; she knew that the question of her engage- 
ment with him must be decided now; and, quickly 
freeing herself from his arm, she drew back, blush- 
ing and agitated. 

‘‘ Come, Kosy ! there is no longer any use or 
chance for prevarication ; you have too much wit 
and intelligence to be ignorant of whom I had refer- 
ence to that day, and now let us have no more 
ambiguity about it. Of you I thought then, and 
have ever since, and it has never occurred to me that 
I would have to ask your consent to my marriage 
with any other woman ; and though I longed to see 
yon the frank, generous, and true girl I knew you 
to be, I have suftered whatever your coquettish 
humor chose to make me, rather than ask you to 
bind yourself so long before I could aftbrd to marry. 

24 * 


282 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


But now, though I am not much better off, I have 
no longer such extreme desires, and I know you 
do not care for wealth or magnificence ; so let us 
understand each other: will you be frank, Rosy?” 

There was never upon woman a more frank and 
earnest look than Rosamond wore then ; her hand 
did not seek to free itself from his, but her other 
hand stole up until it rested upon his shoulder, 
and, looking blushingly and candidly into his face, 
she said, kindly but firmly, — 

Yes, Robert, I will ! Let us remain as we always 
have been, true, firm friends : we have need of each 
other, and may be able to help each other. I have 
no friend in this world that I can look to for advice 
besides yourself, and, if you will let me, I shall try 
to be good to you whenever Providence puts it in 
my power. This is all we were ever intended to be.’’ 

She never before looked more charming; the 
mourning dress she wore contrasted well with the 
whiteness of what little of her neck it left exposed, 
and its loose fit draped her fine form like a beauti- 
ful statue. 

Robert understood her in a moment, and, drop- 
ping her hand, he tore himself away, and threw 
himself into a chair, exclaiming, almost angrily, — 

“ I thought we understood each other better than 
that, Rosy, or I would never have flattered myself 
that we were intended to be something more than 
we have always been.’* 

I have never intended to deceive you, Robert; 
whatever I have said to give you hope was said in 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


283 


the thoughtlessness of the moment, and I always 
supposed that you thought as lightly of it,” she re- 
plied, feelingly, and looking apologetically at him. 

‘‘No, Rosy, I deceived myself; like the fool in 
the Bible, I have flattered myself until my iniquity 
has become hateful to me;” and then, before Rosa- 
mond could interpose a word, he added, rising from 
the chair, “Let us bid each other adieu here. I 
will then see Mr. Davenport and go back to South 
America : I longed to see poor Lucy’s grave ; and 
now, having remembered all her goodness, and 
mourned for its departure from this dreary world, 
I shall bid a long farewell to this once pleasant 
place.” 

She folded her arms across her breast, and stead- 
fastly refused to shake hands with him, saying, with 
sudden alarm and eagerness, — 

“No, Robert, you must not go away; we will 
never be happy without you here; and besides, 
you would soon sicken and die in that hot, un- 
healthy climate.” 

“ Come, Rosy, let us shake hands. There is 
nothing here or elsewhere that my absence or 
presence will affect, and I suppose I shall never 
trouble you again this side of the grave. Will you 
give me your hand ?” 

“No, Robert; Bob dear, I will not! for you 
must not leave us and go back there: stay here 
Tvith or near us, and you will be much happier. 
You said a moment ago that you did not care for 
wealth, and I know no one living cares less for it 


284 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


than you do ; so there is no reason why you should 
forsake painting for traflB.c.’’ 

You are right ; I do not nor never did care for 
it for myself ; and I only sought it because I wanted 
it for you ; but there is excitement in the pursuit 
of it that may help me for the present. What is 
there here ? Lucy is dead, and you — well, I never 

understood you as I should 

She refused still to take the hand he held out to 
her, and, seizing his hat, he went towards the door, 
saying,— 

Well, then, I will go without it.” 

She sprang ahead of him, however ; closing the 
door, she placed her back against it, and said, — 

‘‘ Oh, Robert, forgive me if I have ever led you 
to sacrifice your tastes and pursuits for me ! I never 
thought of it before ; and whatever I have said, I 
would not wish to see you anything else but what 
you are. If I loved you, I would love you as the 
artist, and nothing else ; I would love the profes- 
sion for the man, and not the man for the profes- 
sion. I shall never be happy if you go back to 
that place again wrangling for dollars, instead of 
staying home here and enjoying your friends and 
your tastes.” 

“Well, then, loVe me, and love the artist, and I 
will stay here in our own country,” he said. 

“Yes, as a friend and sister, /or ever and ever ; but 
I could not otherwise, Robert ; I would if I could ; 
but I have not power over my own heart,” she 
cried. 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


285 


That is enough, Rosy ; let us part before I make 
myself despicable by asking you a third time. I 
have been all my life jumping to conclusions, and it 
is time I should learn wisdom somewhere,'’ he said, 
impatiently, trying to remove her from the door. 

But she stood firm, and, winding both her arms 
around his neck, entreated him with tears. 

Oh, Robert dear, forgive me if I have wronged 
you! You know that, however wayward and 
thoughtless I have been all my past life, I would 
never be false to a friend ; and whatever I said to 
you, and allowed you to say to me, was not for un- 
kind intentions towards you, but because I did not 
know my own heart. 

“ Let the past be buried ; that question of giving 
my consent to your marriage be forgotten, and then 
we can be happy again. 

‘‘ If you go away, Robert, I shall die of grief, for 
I have already been the innocent cause of Lucy's 
death; and now, driving away the only comfort her 
father can have in his utter helplessness and woe, 
will take away what little hope there is in me of 
ever doing any good. 

Remember how much we both owe him, Rob- 
ert, and how much he now stands in need of any- 
thing we can do to add to his comfort and consola- 
tion. When our own flesh and blood failed us, and 
were cold towards us, he took us under his care, — 
poor little lambs, without a shepherd or a dam, — 
and defended us from the preying wolves that be- 
set us on every side. Now, when he has lost his 


286 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


only child, and has no friends besides us, can we 
turn our backs on him and leave him, when we 
might be children to him, and pay him back some 
of the debt we owe ? What is the fame of gain- 
ing wealth or excelling in art, Robert, compared 
with some noble purpose in life, as that of living 
for some one else’s comfort and good, especially 
when that person is one to whom every human and 
divine law binds us? And then, again, Robert, 
Lucy loved you ; she lived loving you, and died 
loving you, all in secret, though I know it ; and, 
if she lived, you would some time be Uncle Daven- 
port’s son in another sense. But now, when God 
has taken her away from her father, you will not 
make his affiction greater by deserting him too, 
instead of trying to make it lighter the short time 
he has left to mourn over her?” 

It must not be supposed that Robert stood un- 
moved while Rosamond was saying all this, for the 
poor girl was crying almost aloud all the while, and 
her broken sentences were often intermingled with 
kisses on Robert’s forehead and cheeks, while she 
appealed to him, so that her feelings would have 
overcome his obstinacy without the powerful ally 
she awoke in his own heart by appealing to his 
gratitude to Mr. Davenport. 

He had softened at once, and wept with her at 
her picture of Mr. Davenport’s desolation ; but the 
moment she said that Lucy had loved him, he stag- 
gered back* to the chair, and, overcome by emotion, 
he wept like a child, crying, — 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


287 


Oh, Lucy, my love ! my love ! had I ever sus- 
pected your love, and known my own heart, life 
might have been happier to me and longer to you ! 
Oh, my poor Lucy ! my love ! my love 

Without raising his head, he held out his hand 
to Rosamond, who was at once by his side with her 
sympathy, and he said, — 

‘‘ Rosy dear, forgive me, though I cannot forgive 
myself. This has been all a hallucination. I know 
now what love is, — I never knew before, — and I feel 
my very heart turning to clay and mingling in the 
grave with the ashes of the poor unfortunate girl. 

‘'How could I have made such a mistake. Rosy? 
Talking to you of love, and angry with you for not 
returning it, when my heart has been wholly an- 
other’s ! Alas, this is what comes of human plan- 
ning ! I thought you ought to be mine, and Lucy 
Hed Pearson’s, and never for once waited to learn 
how much true love had to say. Will you forgive 
me, though my presumption and foolishness seem 
too great to be overlooked by any one but a good 
and generous girl like yourself?” 

Rosamond assured him there was nothing to be 
forgiven; and then, hand clasped in hand, ‘they 
promised to remain in the old house while Mr. 
Davenport lived, and be his son and daughter in 
spirit and truth. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


We will now resume our searcli for Lucy, — not 
in the grave, nor yet in heaven, dear reader; so do 
not be startled by the proposition. We will return 
to the Ohio River and land in Kentucky. 

Yes, to Kentucky Lucy was taken, alive and 
sound, by the current of the stream, — far, far be- 
low where I had sought her before. 

I do not know how I have kept the secret so 
long ; and now, as it leaps from my heart, my hand 
and pen are electrified by writing it ; but I try to 
tell my story as it ought to be told, — every event, 
error, and surprise in the order they happened. Do 
not, therefore, think me hard-hearted for causing 
you to shed tears at her grave, and recording the 
solemnities of her funeral, and the grief of her 
friends. All was real to us then. We mourned for 
her as lost. And remember that if you have been 
deceived for a few hours, so had we been for a few 
months. To resume, then. 

Lucy went on board the steamboat at Cincinnati, 
as her telegram to Rosamond announced, and she 
passed through the horrible scenes of the collision. 
She had not been long in her state-room when it 
occurred, having been sitting up until near midnight 
conversing with a lady and gentleman, with whom 
( 288 ) 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


289 


she had traveled from Pittsburg. It was the first 
night she had ever spent on the water, and the un- 
usual sounds and motion kept her awake. 

Before she felt the shock of the collision she 
heard the cry of alarm from the deck-hands, and 
she was upon her feet when the passengers were 
awakened to a sense of their danger by the crash. 
As the cry of fire from the boiler-deck mingled 
with the screams of terror from the saloons and 
state-rooms, the first feeling of cold horror she had 
ever known chilled her blood. But Lucy was a 
calm, brave girl by nature, and her presence of 
mind did not desert her. Though she was not as 
energetic and self-reliant as Rosamond, she could 
think and act with as much reason and judgment. 

When she first went into her state-room, she saw 
the life-preservers hanging up there ; and, reading 
the notices for the passengers’ instruction as to 
their use, she fitted one on her, partly from curi- 
osity, and partly from prudence. 

Looking into the saloon, as soon as the alarm was 
raised, she saw several running wildly about, and 
the smoke and flames already rushing up from the 
lower deck ; so she stepped back and tied the cork 
jacket on her, as she had done more leisurely only 
a few hours before. Then she came out again, and 
followed the crowd of frightened passengers to the 
cabin-guards, from where she could see another 
steamboat in flames also, and, by the red glare it 
cast, she recognized the couple she had been a short 
time before conversing with. They appeared calm, 
25 


290 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


and she looked to see what they were doing for 
their safety, so as to do the same for herself ; and 
having observed the gentleman take the doors 
of his room off* their hinges, she proceeded to un- 
hang hers also. 

Her calmness attracted the attention of the man, 
and he took it off* for her, showing her how to hold 
and use it when she plunged into the water; also 
telling her to stand near them, and not jump until 
they did, as the steamboat was nearing the shore, 
and, by jumping off* the moment it was sinking, 
she would save herself with less effort. 

‘‘You may be engulfed for a moment by the 
plunge, but hold on to your door, as you have it 
now, and it will bring you up again all right,’’ he 
said, to reassure her, as he pitied her lonely con- 
dition ; for he was only a bridegroom yet, and had 
not lost his gallantry. 

Others now crowded the guards around her, ut- 
tering frantic cries, and, as they could not be re- 
strained from throwing themselves into the water, 
the philanthropic man handed them doors and tied 
life-preservers on them, as he had opportunity, 
turning, every few moments, to his wife, for she 
seemed as impatient to get off* the burning boat as 
some of the most excited were. There were six or 
eight persons restrained by his eff*orts from throw- 
ing themselves into the water without the neces- 
sary apparatus for keeping afloat, and, while he 
was preparing them for the awful leap, the boat 
was rapidly burning and tilling. 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


291 


At last she was settling in the water, and, giving 
a hand to his wife and another to Lucy, he told 
them to jump off with him. 

Lucy took the leap, but the other lady did not, 
and while her husband went back to take her off, 
the current carried Lucy away from the vicinity 
of the vessel. 

As swimming - schools for young ladies were 
not among our city institutions when Lucy was 
receiving her education, she had not been taught 
to swim, and having no means of directing her 
course to the shore, she was carried down the river 
with the current. The life-preserver and the door 
were sufficient to keep her afloat, however, and, 
thankful for her escape from the fire, she awaited 
rescue patiently, though every moment was drift- 
ing her away from the light of the burning vessels, 
and into the unknown darkness beyond her. 

All night long she drifted down the river, chilled 
by the coldness of the water, but still clinging 
to her door, and trusting in Providence for de- 
liverance. Towards daylight she was carried so 
near the Kentucky shore that her feet touched the 
sandy bottom, and letting go her hold on her good 
friend, the state-room door, she crept to the shore. 

The firmness and endurance which had so far 
supported her failed the moment she was out of 
the water, and she sank down on the low bank in 
a swoon. 

About sunrise one of the wretched, poverty- 
stricken inhabitants, who exist rather than live 


292 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


among the many wealthy and refined people in 
Kentucky, came down to look at his fish-lines, and 
gazed with open-mouthed wonder upon the un- 
known waif which night had cast upon his fishing- 
bank. He soon found that she was not dead, as he at 
first supposed, and, going to his wife, got her advice 
and assistance, and removed Lucy to his log-hut. 

It was long before she revived, and when she 
did, her exhausted state would not permit her to 
give any account of herself, which, indeed, was 
unnecessary, as the couple would scarcely compre- 
hend any account she could give them. 

Then followed a fever, which nothing but divine 
interposition prevented from ending her life, for 
she had no medical aid, and as little of the aid 
which diet and comfort can give as she could ex- 
pect from South Sea Islanders. 

The people among whom she suffered lived in 
utter ignorance of almost everything : they never 
read a newspaper, and never knew what was trans- 
piring beyond the range of their eyes; and they 
did not, therefore, think of making any inquiries 
as to whom the invalid belonged. 

They had not heard of the accident which had 
cast her upon their poor hospitality, nor did they 
ever miss the ill-fated steamboats from among the 
many which passed up and down the river every 
day; and they did not consider that anxious friends 
might be looking for her, or that by hailing a 
passing boat she might be sent to some place where 
better care could be bestowed upon her. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


293 


Days and even weeks she was prostrated, in- 
sensible of her condition, or else too weak and 
unnerved to make any exertions towards helping 
herself. 

At last she asked them for some paper and ink, 
that she might write home and inform her father 
of her safety; but they had none, and before any 
could be procured she had a relapse. 

When the man at length made a journey to a 
distant grocery store, or rather to a groggery, at 
which paper was kept, he got some, and told them 
of the strange guest he had; but what aid or 
thought could be expected from people as degraded 
as they were ? They were of a class so depraved 
in their tastes and morals that they thought Provi- 
dence gave them corn and peach crops for the 
sole purpose of supplying them with whisky and 
brandy, and that the little used as bread and fruit 
was diverted from its legitimate channel, and 
wasted. 

It was long before Lucy was able to write the 
few lines necessary to inform her father or Rosa- 
mond of her safety, and then those lines were 
carried about in the greasy pockets of her host 
some time longer before they were mailed. 

Before I bring Lucy back to her friends, how- 
ever, I must say something in extenuation of the 
three credible witnesses who saw her coffined and 
buried. People are not believed when they say, 
after an unexpected event has transpired, that they 
25 * 


294 


WAS SHE ENOAOEDf 


were looking for it, and yet doubtless such is often 
the case. We are so constituted that we hope and 
doubt everything sometimes ; the evidence of our 
senses does not preclude it, and when occasionally 
one of the vagaries of our mental eccentricity be- 
comes a sober fact, we boast of it, while we forget 
the many others that were dissolved to nothing. T 
went out to the farm two or three times while Lucy 
was absent, — in her grave we supposed, — and every 
time I approached the house it was with a vague 
hope that her death and burial were all a dream. 
Sometimes I would hope to learn on arriving there 
that something more had been heard of her fate, 
certain as it seemed to me, and even that I would 
meet herself at the door, in perfect health and 
soundness, laughing at our blunder. 

‘‘ What if her death proved to be a mistake, and 
she was at the house before me, alive and well; 
would we not have a happy time of it? And how 
we should laugh at the tears we shed over her sup- 
posed corpse !” were words which often rose to my 
lips, but were choked back as foolishness. 

Yet in sober mind (if I may so designate it in 
contradistinction to the whimsical fancies which 
will sometimes fill its place) I never doubted her 
fiite, nor did I doubt that we had recovered the 
right body, though I thought with so little to 
recognize it, a mistake would be possible. 

Since the error has been discovered, I have 
learned from Kosamond that she doubted nearly 
as much as I did; but the philosophy that Sarah 


WAS SHE ENOAOED? 


295 


urged appeared sound, and she therefore kept her 
doubts to herself. 

For Sarah I cannot speak so positively, because 
she pretended to recognize more than we did, 
while our eyes were as good as hers, and our 
acquaintance with Lucy as thorough. 

Yet she wept the tears of a mourner, and what- 
ever she thought and felt in her heart, her face did 
not betray any doubts of the identity of the corpse 
or pleasure in the sad calamity that had befallen us 
all, though it might be her gain. 

It was her policy to have no doubt of Lucy’s 
death, as Mr. Davenport would cling to a hope, 
however improbable, and die with it, leaving a pro- 
vision in his will for the return of his daughter, 
which might hamper the independence of the 
young widow. 

The lines written in the log-house down on the 
banks of the Ohio River were brought to the farm 
at last. The letter was addressed to Rosamond, 
and as soon as it was placed in her hand she thought 
the superscription looked somewhat like Lucy’s, — 
in fact, she suspected that it was her writing; but, 
like Paul, she was in doubt whether it was written 
in the flesh or out of the flesh. It was torn open 
in an instant, and, without waiting to read the con- 
tents, she looked at the signature, and screamed 
that Lucy was living, at the same time rushing 
into Sarah’s arms, who was coming towards her, 
when she saw Lucy’s name. 

She left the letter with Sarah, and ran as fast as 


296 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


her supple limbs could serve her to Mr. Daven- 
port’s room, crying, — 

‘‘ Oh, uncle, good news ! good news ! Lucy is 
not dead ! she is alive ! Lucy is living ! Lucy ! 
Lucy ! she is alive !” 

“ What do you say, child ? Lucy alive ! My 
angel coming back to me !” he exclaimed, starting 
up in his bed, and repeating Kosamond’s assertions 
rather than questioning them. 

Yes ! yes ! she has written to me ! she is some- 
where ; I did not wait to see. Sarah has the letter !” 
And then they fell into each other’s arms and wept 
like children. 

Sarah followed Rosamond as soon as she had 
given the note a calm perusal, and read it to them 
as follows : 

“ Dear Father and Rosy, — I was not lost with 
the boat, as I fear you have believed, but was taken 
down the river a long distance by the current, and 
set on shore by a merciful Providence. 

‘‘ I have been very sick and weak ever since, and 
unable to recollect how I left home or realize my 
present situation most of the time ; but now I am 
getting strong very rapidly, and will, with God’s 
help, be able to go home to you soon. When I 
reach home I will tell you all about my escape, 
and the fearful sights I have witnessed.” 

Then followed words of gratitude to the people 
who had saved her life, an inquiry for the lady on 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


297 


whose account she left home, and directions how 
to address a letter to her. 

‘‘ Oh, God be praised for his mercy and good- 
ness !” Mr. Davenport exclaimed, when his wife 
had read to the place at which my quotation ter- 
minates. I will get up and go to her with 
Robert ! Rosy dear, telegraph to Robert ! The 
poor angel is alive ! the lost is found ! I never 
did feel satisfied with that lock of hair you gave 
me ; for Lucy’s was far more beautiful.” 

They persuaded him with difficulty to rest in his 
bed until Robert came out from the city, in order 
to preserve his strength for the journey; though 
neither Rosy nor Mrs. Davenport believed it pos- 
sible that he could undertake it. 

Robert went out that evening, and there was a 
family jubilee, an overfiowing of hearts into hearts, 
and an outpouring of thanks to the Providence 
which had rescued and preserved Lucy. 

After all the tears shed for her, none could be 
found willing to acknowledge they had ever been 
satisfied that we had buried her. 

Robert and Mr. Davenport, who had least 
reason to doubt it, because we who had seen 
the corpse did not tell them that we had doubts, 
had repudiated the shade and texture of the hair 
from the first; and now when it was known 
to be another’s they made their discrimination 
the theme of great boasting, though they had 
only said it had faded or lost its gloss in the 
water. 


298 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


^^And now,” said Mr. Davenport, pathetically, 
‘‘ let us remember that some poor unfortunate has 

‘ Gone to her death/ — 

maybe some friendless young girl, going to the 
South to teach ; and no one has missed her ! Oh, 
the poor victim ! we must deck her grave always 
with flowers, and weep anew for her as a poor 
friendless stranger. 

* Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother? 

Had she a sister? 

Had she a brother ? 

Or was there a nearer one 
Still, and a dearer one 
Yet, than all other?' 

are questions that may never be answered in this 
life ; but we know that she was 

‘ Fashioned as slenderly, 

Young and^as fair’ 


as Lucy was, otherwise you would not have made 
that singular mistake.” 

He continued his speech until he had quoted 
nearly all ‘‘ The Bridge of Sighs” in his lament 
over the unknown victim, and his desire to watch 
and honor her grave in place of the friends who 
were not near it to do her memory that respect. 

By Robert he was persuaded to relinquish the 
thought of undertaking to travel, and Rosamond 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


299 


and Robert were appointed to go for Lucy, and 
determine whether it would be prudent to remove 
her at once or not. 

Before she retired that night, Rosamond packed a 
trunkful of clothes for Lucy, and they left the farm, 
so as to take the morning train to the city, where 
they delayed only long enough to purchase cordials 
and tonics to strengthen the invalid for her journey 
home. 

They found her in the midst of squalidness and 
wretchedness greater than they had ever imagined ; 
but still, improved since she had written. 

In his impatience, Robert clasped her in his 
arms, with all the fervor and frenzy of a lover, the 
moment he could reach her. 

As she did not suspect the feelings her supposed 
death had awoke from their dormant state, she re- 
turned his embrace with all the warmth that could 
be expected of a sister; but when, forgetting that 
Rosamond was also waiting to embrace her, he still 
held her to his heart, crying, in the very words he 
used the day Rosamond had told him he had been 
beloved of her, ‘‘ Oh, Lucy, my love ! my love ! my 
darling !” she comprehended at once the meaning 
of his unusual demonstrativeness. 

There was no resistance to his passionate joy; 
indeed, there was no power of resistance that she 
could offer to -it ; for, though she did not become 
insensible, the power of action and utterance seemed 
to be suspended; and, while her head lay, like a 
drooping lily, upon his breast, the little color which 


300 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


returning health and friends had brought back to 
her face had faded away from it again, and left 
her so inanimate in appearance that he feared she 
had fainted. 

It is men's misfortune to be the cause of ladies’ 
swoons, and women’s fortune to supply the cure 
for them, and no sooner had Eobert done the poor 
invalid this damage than Rosamond pushed him 
aside, and tried her gentle arts in repairing it. 

When Lucy revived again, and was told that her 
father was well, and could hardly be persuaded from 
coming for her himself, she became very cheerful, 
and said she felt able to go with them at once. 

As her accommodations were of the most beg- 
garly description, and her mind seemed elated at 
the prospect of going, both Robert and Rosamond 
agreed with her desire. 

It was only a few hundred yards to the river, and 
the steamboats ran up to the banks, where the water 
permitted, to take any passengers that signaled 
them. 

That same evening a passing boat touched the 
bank three hundred yards above the bar Lucy had 
been cast on, and she was taken on board in almost 
an ecstatic state ; her body was already beginning 
to feel the sympathetic influence of the mind. 

They rested a day in Cincinnati, and then took 
passage on another boat to Pittsburg, as that mode ^ 
of conveyance was easier than railroad travel, and 
would rest her for her greatest exertion, — the jour- 
ney across Pennsylvania. But she was so much 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


301 


stronger by the aid of cordials, milk-punch, and 
the society of old friends, that when they reached 
Pittsburg, they had no fears for her, and leaning 
on Robert’s arm, she walked from the boat to a 
carriage almost as lightly as if she had never been 
sick. 

She was allowed two days to cross Pennsylvania, 
and then rested another day in Philadelphia, by 
command of her guardians, where I had the pleas- 
ure of welcoming her back to life, and joining the 
party in their triumphal march to the farm. 

Mr. Davenport was sitting up, — in fact, he had 
been for a full week, except during the hours of 
night; and, being advised by telegraph when to 
expect her, he was at the parlor window, looking 
down the avenue for her arrival. 

There was a joyous shout of welcome, as she 
came through the village, from those who mourned 
her loss the day we pretended to bury her; and 
when we reached the gate we could see Mr. Daven- 
port’s handkerchief wave from the window. 

She was in his arms almost in a moment after 
she alighted, and the fond old man forgot all his 
ailments for the time being, and hugged her as 
soundly as he could have done at any time in his 
past life. 

Sarah was not behind in her good will, but, true 
to her dignity and practical sense, did not waste 
either tears or time in her welcome, but released 
her, and went to see about suitable refreshments 
for us. 


26 


302 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


After another affectionate embrace, and then 
holding her out from him to make sure that he 
was not wasting his strength on a counterfeit 
Lucy, he released her, and, looking to us, cried, — 

“ Edward and Rosamond, give me your hands ! 
You are a nice pair of friends to intrust with the 
burying of my dead ! What can you say for your- 
selves for imposing upon a sick old man with such 
a lachrymose tale and dewy ringlet as you brought 
me, like the bloody garments Jacob’s sons brought 
to him to prove that his beloved Joseph was de- 
voured? Guilt will not let you answer; but ask 
for my forgiveness and you shall have it instantly.” 

He was becoming intoxicated with joy, and in 
his overflow of happiness was scarcely conscious 
of what he was doing. 

His cordial grasp of my hand conveyed to me 
the reparation he offered for his past suspicions ; 
and, letting Rosamond’s hand fall, he reached for 
Lucy, his purpose so evident in his countenance 
that all present read it in an instant. 

The poor man labored under the strange delu- 
sion under which myself and all the family had 
labored (Lucy excepted), that she and I loved each 
other, and in the wild impulse of the moment 
would have given her to me without letting me 
ask for her. Robert’s quick wit saved us from 
the embarrassment which would have followed 
such an offer; for, grasping Lucy’s hand, he cried, 
“You have found your lost one again, and your 
dead is now alive, Mr. Davenport. Give her to 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


303 


me, and I shall never let her go near a steamboat 
again 

He did not wait for an answer, but clasped Lucy 
to his heart as if she were already his own, and 
drew her towards her father for the blessing. 

Amazement sobered Mr. Davenport in an in- 
stant ; he was not expecting this, and both he 
and Eosamond anxiously glanced at me to see how 
I took such an unlooked-for interference; for 
Eobert was the only one who knew that Lucy and 
I had parted as brother and sister. 

My face assured them that there was nothing in 
my heart but unfeigned satisfaction at the turn the 
little family drama had taken, and a bright flush 
of pleasure illumed Eosamond’s always bright 
countenance, while Mr. Davenport showed plainly 
in his that though he would gladly have given her 
to me, I had lost none of his good will by letting 
her go to another so cheerfully. 

He turned to Eobert, who still held the half- 
resisting girl to his heart, and said, in poorly coun- 
terfeited indignation, — 

‘‘ What, you selfish rascal ! can you have the 
impudence of asking me to give my long-lost dar- 
ling away to you so soon after the grave has given 
her back to me ? Ho, sir, she shall never leave 
my house again for you or any one else ! so under- 
stand that I love her yet 

Eobert did not hear or seem to hear what was 
said ; for Lucy, overcome by the excitement of the 
past few days and the vehemence of her lover, 


304 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


would have fallen on the floor had he not sup- 
ported while he embraced her, and all his atten- 
tion was centered on her. 

As she recovered, and was again showing some 
signs of resistance, her father said, — 

‘‘Bring her to me, Robert.” 

Robert led her towards him, and, supporting 
himself between Rosamond and me, the tender 
father stood and received them both into his em- 
brace, saying, — 

“ Yes, as God has given her back to me, so will- 
ingly do I give her to you, Robert, my son ! May 
you both be as good and as happy, as faithful to 
your God and to each other, as it is in my over- 
flowing heart to wish you !” 

Through the tears, which were flowing down his 
face, the benevolence and goodness of his character 
shone with almost unearthly brightness, and he was, 
no doubt, realizing the divine truth that “ it is more 
blessed to give than to receive but even in the 
excitement of the moment his native politeness 
was not forgotten, for he said to Robert, who was 
still holding Lucy, — 

“ Come, Robert, do not be selflsh ; remember 
we are all friends here, and allow Rosy and Mr. 
Pearson to congratulate us. God be thanked, we 
have at last awakened from this ‘ Midsummer- 
hlight’s Dream’ by which I have been deluded so 
long.” 

Rosamond kissed them both aflectionately, and 
I followed by kissing Lucy also ; but Mr. Daven- 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


305 


port, overcome by his unusual excitement, and 
having deprived himself of my support, fell to the 
floor. 

As we lifted him up, he cried, in a suflbcating 
voice, — 

‘‘ Oh, I am dying I Come near me, my children ! 
May God bless you both, and bless you all, Eosy 
and Edward ! You have all been good to me ; 
what would my life have been without you? 
Every one of you has contributed to my happiness 
as you had power, and I bless you for it. My 
dying blessing 

While he was speaking, or rather gasping, those 
words, we laid him on a sofa, and Mrs. Davenport, 
who was ignorant of all that had passed in the 
room, came in now and hurried out again for 
restoratives. 

Though some were bathing his temples, and 
others chafing his hands, he was gradually becom- 
ing incoherent in his speech, and we felt, with all 
our exertions, how powerless human aid is when 
death comes upon man. We tried all that love for 
the good man could do to assist him, but he was 
soon unconscious of our efforts even, and talked 
wildly, while we could do nothing to restore him 
to consciousness. 

Glorious mountains and plenty of game, Perry. 
— We are Eobin Hood and Little John. — Yes, 
Lucille, so fair and lovely ! — Yield the poor or- 
phan’s portion to the churl? Ho, never, while I 
have a dollar to — Oh, you hypocrite ! why have you 
26 * 


306 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


slandered and wounded my poor, innocent dove ? — 
Come back, Lucy ; come back, my angel, and for- 
give me! — ^Yes, take her; she has come again to 
us, the wound is healed, and she is ours — Lucille’s 
son ; yes, amen, amen ! — A splendid sky ! — Trans- 
lucent atmosphere ! — Magnificent col — glorious ! 
glorious ! glori ” 

He ceased speaking. All his life seemed to have 
been reviewed in that short time, and its principal 
events were recounted for the last time on earth. 

He soon sank into a peaceful slumber, and we 
sat up with him all night, expecting every moment 
that some change would take place. 

About daylight he opened his eyes, beckoned 
for Lucy to approach him, and after holding her 
to his breast for a few moments, without any other 
token of recognition, he calmly expired. 

Lucy had hitherto shown all the firmness and 
presence of mind that she had acquired by years 
of patient nursing ; but the moment his breath 
ceased to be felt on her cheeks, both failed her, 
and Rosamond and Robert took her away, while 
Sarah and myself remained behind with all that 
was left of the artist, philanthropist, and father, 
save the good record of his unobtrusive virtue and 
useful life. 


CHAPTER XX. 


During the four weeks which followed Mr. Dav- 
enport’s death, there was nothing said or done at 
the farm worthy of record in this story. The 
mourning set aside by Mrs. Davenport and Rosa- 
mond on the return of Lucy, had been resumed 
again, with a few extras for the former, who now 
required a widow’s weeds. 

It would be presumptuous of me to describe 
Sarah’s feelings on finding herself a free woman 
so soon ; for she did not betray her sentiments to 
me when I was her lover, and I was less still in 
her confidence since she became Mrs. Davenport. 
By the death of her husband she was released from 
her servitude as nurse and housekeeper, and also 
from the yoke of the law, so that she was now free to 
enter into the matrimonial lists again, as soon and 
energetically as her sense of propriety would let her. 

Born to succeed, apparently, and yet, so far, sin- 
gularly unsuccessful, she must have rejoiced, with- 
out malice towards the living or the dead, upon con- 
templating another trial of her captivating powers, 
so long resting in ignoble idleness, but still in 
good enough preservation to serve their ambitious 
mistress. 


( 307 ) 


308 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


She had made no pretensions to excessive grief, 
for moderation was her virtue ; and to be moder- 
ately bereaved, and decently solemn, was all she 
claimed as her privilege. She had perception 
enough to know that tears would not become her, 
however natural and honest the feelings which 
would call them forth, and her respect for her 
cousins kept her silent on the subject of her loss. 
Since the day she had entered the house as its mis- 
tress, she had never, by word or deed, given Rosa- 
mond and Lucy cause for complaint, and she only 
waited to leave it now when respect for them would 
permit it. Like all well-bred persons, she made 
her duty and inclination go hand-in-hand ; so her 
politeness to them was not lost, since she needed a 
month of retirement to form and mature her plans 
for the future. 

Mr. Davenport’s last will, which had been made 
about the time he began to have doubts of his wife’s 
disinterestedness in marrying him, had not been 
altered, on account of Lucy’s supposed death, and 
it left one-third of his property to his wife and the 
balance to his daughter. 

During the earlier days of his professional career, 
he had been a successful painter, and his savings 
were not inconsiderable; so that Sarah’s portion, 
however below her ambition, was enough to main- 
tain her in modest independence. 

But she had higher projects than living a re- 
tired widow, and her fortune would not serve her 
ends unless she spent it all in a year or two, and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED ? 309 

risked everything in getting a husband with a more 
substantial fortune before it had failed her. 

She was too independent and too conscious of 
the incompatibility between herself and Rosamond 
to remain with her cousins on the farm, even if her 
patience would suffer her to await there a tardy and 
doubtful discovery, and she resolved to go some 
place where she would be more appreciated, and 
courted as a woman. 

It was her belief that the sexes were intended to 
be nearly equal in numbers, and statistics prove 
that they are nearly so by birth ; but she knew, 
from personal observation, that marriageable men 
were greatly in the minority in her neighborhood, 
and, consequently, there was some place where 
they were wasting their existence without the com- 
panionship Providence had provided for them. 

She gave her mind to the benevolent task of dis- 
covering that place, and the project of blessing it 
with her presence and attractions. 

Rosamond, while frank in her manners, was as 
deep as a well, and, though Sarah had not made 
her a confidante in her schemes, yet she rightly read 
them in hei: mind by her knowledge of character in 
general, and of Cousin Sarah’s in particular. 

Though sorrow-stricken by the death of a man 
who had been such a kind guardian to her, Rosa- 
mond’s mind was not vacant. Physical and men- 
tal activity was her characteristic, and a feeling of 
moral responsibility added to these, had made her a 
girl of nobler aims and aspirations than when she was 


810 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


first introduced to the reader. It was only natural, 
however, that some of the old leaven would some- 
times show itself, and this was usually the case 
when she was dealing with Sarah, whose selfishness 
and cunning aroused it. 

One day, in conversation with the widow about 
some acquaintance who had married above her 
deserts while on a long voyage, she said, If ever 
a woman seems to be angel to man it is when she 
is at sea, with the rough faces and the rougher man- 
ners of the sailors to set off* her beauty and gentle- 
ness. As she is the only woman in sight, every 
look and motion seems grace itself; no feminine 
eye is there to detect art and aff*ectation ; and no 
wonder the poor sailors and all the men on board 
admire her as the only mark of civilization and re- 
finement they have in view.^' 

While Rosamond was delivering her mind of 
this sentiment, her hand was exploring her pocket. 
It was not often drawn forth empty from that 
magazine of curiosities, as when she sent Boynton 
away, and when she had concluded her speech she 
produced a clipping, saying, — 

‘‘Being at sea must be almost equal to living in 
California, which appears to be a paradise for 
women, from the following paragraph I have cut 
out of a paper a few days ago : 

“‘We would advise some of our New England 
towns, which have an overstock of women and an 
interest in philanthropic enterprises, to send a few 
cargoes of its “ wall-flowers’’ to California, where 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


311 


they would not be suffered to sit alone a whole 
evening at a party, however much age and appear- 
ances were against them. 

“ ‘ From an exchange we learn that there was a 
ball given there some time ago, and all the women 
they could muster amounted to two cooks, not 
over-beautiful or accomplished, as may be sup- 
posed, but yet no Eastern belle could boast of 
being more sought and contended for than they 
were in the mazy dance at that ball. This reminds 
us that we saw some time ago in the same ex- 
change a paragraph which deserves notice also : 

‘ A woman had taken her infant to the theater 
at San Francisco, and as the orchestra began the 
overture the child cried ; whereupon a man in the 
pit called out to stop the fiddles and let the baby 
cry, as he had not heard one for ten years. 

“ ‘ The orchestra stopped, and the baby con- 
tinued its performance amid unbounded enthusi- 
asm. 

‘Let those societies whose object is to encour- 
age marriage and population take notice. Verbum 
sat sajpientV 

Rosamond had cut this out for Sarah's benefit, 
and kept it in reserve for the right moment, turn- 
ing the conversation on the marriage at sea for the 
purpose of introducing the chances of one in Cali- 
fornia. 

Of course, “a word to the wise was sufficient;" 
Sarah was intelligent enough to see at once the 
advantage of being where there was so little com- 


312 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


petition, and too decided in character to hesitate a 
moment before determining in favor of California. 
Rosamond read her thoughts, and continued, — 

‘‘ It is no compliment for a woman to get a hus- 
band in such a place, as there are twenty eligible 
men to every woman they see.’’ 

‘‘ She need not care for that, since she could 
have the pleasure of complimenting a man by ac- 
cepting him before the nineteen others,” Sarah 
replied, elated by the thought of coquetting with 
a host of admirers again, as in days gone by. 

‘‘I would prefer being complimented myself by 
being selected from twenty others ready to jump at 
the offer made to me,” Rosamond returned. 

Two small speeches could not more fully illus- 
trate the different characters of the speakers, 

Lucy being present was appealed to, but said, in 
a way that proved the discussion was not much to 
her taste, that such a disproportion on either side 
might have its disadvantages. 

‘‘ Lucy, my dear, you must not let your heart be 
consumed by grief: we seldom die of it; and as we 
may expect to live on notwithstanding our bereave- 
ments, we should give our thoughts to such things 
as will enter into our duties and enjoyments in our 
subsequent lives,” Sarah said, 

Lucy replied that she was not prepared to be 
very cheerful ; but, nevertheless, she did not think 
that her grief was more excessive than her father 
deserved and natural feelings justified. 

‘‘We have only an uncle to mourn for; and 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


313 


though he was as kind as a father to us, we cannot 
blame Lucy for dwelling more seriously and dis- 
consolately on her loss,'’ Rosamond remarked. 

‘^You mean that you have only an uncle to 
mourn for,” Sarah returned, not wishing to hear 
her husband designated as her uncle. 

That, however, was the way Rosamond in her 
own heart viewed Sarah’s marriage with Mr. 
Davenport. She doubted whether it was allow- 
able under ordinary circumstances, though really 
there was no consanguinity between them; and 
she replied, evasively, — 

Well, yes, I mean that ; but as he was an only 
uncle, my loss, though not naturally so grievous, 
is equally, with Lucy’s, irreparable, for I cannot 
have another.” 

‘^And why is not mine, also, pray ?” asked Sarah. 

“You married him, and of course can renew the 
relationship with another at any time by marrying 
again. I believe it was written on Pompey’s Pillar 
that what man has done man can do ; and the same 
can be said of woman, — what she has done once 
she can do again as well,” Rosamond replied. 

Sarah did not allow her resentment to betray 
itself, but calmly remarked, — 

“You mistake the meaning of the inscription; 
for the moral intended to be conveyed is that what 
has been done by one man can be also done by 
another; and it is therefore more for the encourage- 
ment of the woman who has never had a husband 
than for her who has been already married.” 

27 


314 


WAS SHE ENGAGED^ 


Yet in her heart she did not reject Rosy’s inter- 
pretation of the moral. She had won a husband 
once, and she thought she could do it again, only 
there was no one in her vicinity then worth the 
winning, even if she could feel it consistent with 
her sense of decorum to cast her eyes about in a 
place where the recent death of her husband was 
known and would be remembered to her disadvan- 
tage. 

She had read too many witticisms at the expense 
of husband-hunting widows to be ignorant of the 
suspicion she would incur by going out alone on 
her venture, and she now hoped to detach Lucy 
from Rosamond, and making her companion to her- 
self. She would gain a twofold advantage by it, 
— their united incomes would enable them to live 
more extravagantly than she could on her own 
separately, and with Lucy for a decoy, the beaux 
would not be so much afraid of her designs. 

I hope I will not be judged too severely for 
writing such uncharitable things against a widow, 
but I have reason for knowing that her motives 
were not disinterested, and the candor which 
should characterize a historian compels me to say 
all I know. I have more confidence in Rosamond’s 
insight of Sarah’s character than in my own, with all 
the advantages my engagement with her gave me ; 
and Rosamond is no longer the wild, impulsive 
creature she was when I met her first, that she 
would say unkind and unjust words of her cousin 
or any one else. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


315 


Sarah bided her time ; and when she and Lucy 
were by themselves she said, — 

‘‘Lucy, my dear cousin, to resume the thoughts 
which Rosamond, with her well-meant though ill- 
timed wit, interrupted to-day, I must remonstrate 
against the wrong you do yourself by allowing 
your mind to dwell too much on your sorrows. It 
is our duty to be cheerful under affliction and be- 
reavement, and the part of sound philosophy to 
forget what we cannot help. 

“ With the loss of your father on your mind, 
and the effects of your recent sickness yet preying 
on your body, you ought to try a change of air and 
scenery. You owe it to your health, and the 
Giver of such a blessing expects that we will ap- 
preciate it enough to guard it by all the means 
we possess.’* 

“ I do not think my health suffers or is in danger, 
and I could not be more cheerful any place than 
here,’* she replied, 

“ Come, you can and will, my dear ! You have 
wept and thought for the dead long enough, and 
now you must think of yourself and the future. 
If I see you indulge in such a gloomy trance again, 
I shall be inclined to think that you are in love, 
and not at all the disconsolate orphan we have been 
sorry for.” 

Lucy looked with surprise and reproach at her, 
for so unfeeling a remark, and then turned away 
her face to hide her tears. 

It must be remembered that Sarah was not 


316 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


present when Robert asked Mr. Davenport for 
Lucy, and therefore was ignorant of the relations 
existing between them. She thought that Rosa- 
mond and Robert were engaged, and said this pur- 
posely to offend Lucy, that she might have an 
opportunity of making an affecting scene between 
them, which would set them on softer ground with* 
each other. 

She rushed towards Lucy with a girlish vehe- 
mence unbecoming to her maturity, and threw 
herself at her feet, crying, — 

‘‘ Forgive me, dear Lucy ; I said it to arouse 
you, it is so long since I saw you smile or look in- 
terested. We both have lost our best and only 
friend, and let us now be friends for his sake. Let 
us banish that frigid reserve which has existed be- 
tween us since my marriage, not only to our own 
prejudice, but also to the sorrow of your dear 
father. 

‘‘Though you may feel injured by it, and justi- 
fied in resenting it, you have really lost nothing 
by my marriage. Tour father loved you as much 
as ever, only your offended manner towards us 
kept him from demonstrating it to you ; and as for 
what he has left me in his will, you shall have 
every dollar of it back, for I will not touch it, but 
will teach, or do something else for an humble 
living, rather than take yours from you 

“No, no, Mrs. Davenport, such a mean, mer- 
cenary thought has never entered my heart ! In- 
stead of envying you the possession of what you 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


317 


have, I would gladly have seen it more,’^ Lucy 
answered, feelingly. 

But I assure you that I cannot touch it, Lucy. 
It all belongs to you alone, and I should be sorry 
to let anything like that come between us, related 
and bound as we are to each other by blood and 
sympathy. You see the misfortune that has at- 
tended the willing of this farm ! What else has 
ever bred discord and dislike between Rosamond 
and myself, innocent as we both are of the will and 
the laws which have interpreted it? No such bone 
of contention shall be between us if I can help it ; 
for I shall give it all up to you, and then, if you 
feel so disposed, live on your bounty while I am 
making arrangements for my future, and there will 
be nothing to embitter our feelings.’' 

trust you do not think I could have bitter 
feelings towards you, Mrs. Davenport V 

« Why not? You have not denied it! You 
made no denial when I said you felt yourself in- 
jured by my marriage with your father ; and what 
else could I think of your silence ?” 

deny it now, Mrs. Davenport. From my 
heart I wish you a happy future, and if there is 
anything to be forgiven, you have my free and full 
forgiveness.” 

‘‘Ah, Lucy, you profess Christianity, and it may 
seem a Christian-like duty to say that you forgive 
me ; but I tell you, Lucy, there is no such thing 
as forgiveness in this world between mortal and 
mortal 1 If you think you are wronged, the feel- 
27 * 


318 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


ing ever remains, for you do not forget it ; and 
saying that you forgive only means that you are 
magnanimous enough to be willing to forego the 
luxury of revenge, while the heart remains, as be- 
fore, estranged from the offender, and dwells upon 
the injury. This is not such a forgiveness, as God 
promises to man ; for He takes the offender back 
to his love and forgets the past; while your eva- 
sive manner merely says, with the old aphorism, 
‘It is your fault if you cheat me once; it is my 
fault if you cheat me twice V 

“ I have not heard that before. It is very good, 
I think,” Lucy said, with a faint smile. 

Sarah looked disappointed, and resumed, — 

“You admit, then, that it expresses your feelings 
— that you were offended because I married your 
father, and that, while you do not wish me ill, you 
cannot forget the offense? But, Lucy, if I did 
cheat you once, I cannot cheat you again ; you 
have not another father that I can marry ; and if 
you had, I do not think I would care to see the 
misfortune of my former marriage duplicated,’' she 
said, ignoring the fact that she could cheat her out 
of many things besides a father’s love. 

“ I hope you do not regard your marriage with 
my father as a misfortune to you ? Did he not al- 
ways treat you with the kindness of a father or an 
uncle, if not with the gallantrj^ of a young lover, 
Mrs. Davenport? And what more could you ex- 
pect ?” Lucy cried, with a slight show of indigna- 
tion in her manner. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


319 


Well, I must confess that I expected more than 
I received, and my marriage experience will last 
me for a lifetime ! I was not foolish enough to 
think that he would go into ecstasies over me, like 
a young husband, — a woman never expects that 
when she marries an old man; but when I married 
him, expecting a father’s love, at least, to replace 
the love of the father I had lost, and wishing to 
share a sister’s love with you, I was, unfortunately, 
disappointed. 

‘‘ I found your heart closed against me from the 
first moment of my new life, and impregnable to 
all my efforts to overcome its prejudice and dis- 
pleasure. Your father, too, seeing that he had 
mortally offended you by marrying, and that you 
would not be reconciled to it, hated me for your 
sake, and, while I tried to nurse him, insulted me 
by his suspicions, as if I was another Lucretia Bor- 
gia, and was waiting for an opportunity of poison- 
ing him. Yes, Lucy, you may well ask me what 
I expected, and what I got, by my marriage, — little 
of the one, and less of the other ! I was foolish 
for doing it, and, if I have injured you, you have 
been already avenged, and it is not much for you 
to say that you forgive me enough to let me go 
without any more punishment.” 

By making out a case of injured innocence, she 
hoped to take advantage of Lucy’s tenderness of 
conscience, and she partly succeeded, for Lucy an- 
swered her with tears, — 

‘‘ If you have suffered all this, then it is I who 


320 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


should be suing for your forgiveness, for I have 
caused both yourself and my father unhappiness ; 
and if your married life has been embittered by 
my manner towards you, I can assure you that you 
have misunderstood my feelings, for I was never 
conscious of a thought that would make it less 
happy for you than you could wish it yourself. And 
it is for you now, Mrs. Davenport, to forgive me^ if 
I have ever, by a word or look, rendered your po- 
sition in the house, or relation to my father or me, 
uncomfortable or unpleasant.’^ 

‘‘No, no, Lucy dear! you never have; you have 
always demeaned yourself well and blamelessly, 
and it is to my own sensitiveness I owe it. I came 
here, as I said before, expecting a warm welcome 
from you, but I could read none in your looks. 

“ I have never, in all your life, known you to de- 
ceive by word or look, and because since my mar- 
riage you have never spoken or even looked any 
affection for me, I was justified in thinking you had 
none in your heart. You did not welcome me, as 
your mother, with any show of love, and I feared 
you regarded me as an intruder and a rival; for 
you know you are demonstrative, and when you 
say nothing, it means that you feel nothing.” 

Lucy thought one moment of her long and silent 
love for Robert, now suppressed and unspoken no 
more, and then replied, — 

“You are right ; my looks and words shall never 
pretend to what I do not feel ; and how could 1 be 
pleased to see you my father’s wife, when I knew 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


821 


he married you because he had withdrawn his con- 
dence and his affection, in a great measure, from 
me V 

Robert had betrayed to Lucy enough of Sarah’s 
duplicity to inspire the last clause, and the mute 
eloquence of her blue eyes gave so much force to 
the words, that the young widow did not reply witlf 
her usual readiness. Lucy continued, — 

“When my father had returned from his unfor- 
tunate wedding tour, and before I could have be- 
trayed anything but joy and solicitude at his un- 
expected return, he showed his estrangement from 
me ; and a month before his marriage took place 
his manner was altered and mysterious.” 

Sarah’s ingenuity had given her a reply by this 
time, and she said, — 

“ You know Rosy used to laugh a good deal 
about the preference Mr. Pearson betrayed for 
your society, and your father might have become 
alarmed by her prophecies, and taken offense at 
the bare possibility of such an event. Old men, 
and especially invalids, are easily frightened when 
such a thing is hinted at, and it is not sur- 
prising that he should have made a bugbear of 
Rosy’s jests, and thought you really intended to 
marry Mr. Pearson, — a step he was mortally 
opposed to.” 

This was a skillful double-barreled discharge of 
spite at Rosamond and myself, — the two whose 
influence in keeping Lucy from her clutches she 
thought she had most to fear; but innocence is 


322 


WAS SEE ENGAGED? 


the best shield against craftiness, and Lacy calmly 
but reproachfully replied, — 

‘‘You ought to have told me this before you mar- 
ried my father, and then all would have been saved 
the sorrows of a misunderstanding. If you com- 
plain of being married to nurse him, and then being 
suspected of a wish to poison him, remember that 
you have partly merited it by making no effort to 
relieve his mind of the errors which were preying 
upon it, and led him into such an act of seeming 
monomania.” 

Sarah was beaten with the weapons of her own 
selection, and said, despondingly, — 

“ What I have suffered by his error I do not 
complain of now ; for I have erred as much my- 
self, and the natural amiability of his temper had 
been impaired by pain. What I have been com- 
pelled to bear with from Rosamond is different; 
and, not having your father’s peace of mind to con- 
sider now, I cannot, with self-respect, longer submit 
to it. This house is hers, and I owe it both to her 
and myself to leave it as soon as possible. She will 
be married to Robert before long, and there will be 
as little welcome for you then as there is for me 
now. Young married people are always happiest 
when by themselves, and let us leave them and go 
forth together to seek some quiet far-away place, 
where we can live in retirement and sisterly affec- 
tion. ‘ The world is all before us where to choose 
our place of rest, and Providence our guide.’ ” 

The romance of her proposition and the sub- 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


323 


liraity of her quotation was not lost on a mind like 
Lucy’s, but they were not well supported by her 
facts, since Lucy knew that Robert would not be 
married to Rosamond. 

She said in reply, therefore, — 

‘‘ I have no nearer or dearer relative than Rosy, 
and no older or better friend than Robert, and I 
do not know why I should run away from either 
of them; besides, I do not think they will be mar- 
ried as soon after my father’s death as you predict.” 

A mind as truthful and explicit as Lucy’s was 
once with every one, will learn to keep its own 
counsel, and even to equivocate eventually, when 
confidence has been betrayed, as was proved by 
her remark about Robert and Rosamond’s mar- 
riage, — a fact which explains the Saviour’s strong 
denunciation of those who oftend the innocence 
and trustfulness of children. 

‘‘ Maybe they will not be married within a month; 
but you know they will at no very distant day; 
they will not always mourn for your father ; and 
when they are married you will see a change in 
them ; their sympathies and their thoughts will be 
centered in themselves more than now. Rosy is 
egregiously selfish, and even Robert will, after he 
is married to her, become diflferent from the friend 
you have known hitherto,” Sarah remarked. 

Lucy’s eyes kindled, and she betrayed a desire 
to say that the change which would some time take 
place in Robert’s relation to her would be an agree- 
able one, but Sarah did not perceive it. 


324 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


“ Eobert has always been in the place of a brother 
to me, and it is his express desire that 1 should 
consult him when I contemplate a step involving 
so much of my happiness as leaving the farm 
would/’ she said. 

‘‘ But are you not afraid that taking him at his 
word may place yourself in a delicate position? 
The engagement between himself and Rosamond, 
though existing, is not supposed to be known, and 
he may think you have understood him in a differ- 
ent sense from what he intended on that account.” 

I do not fear that Robert would suspect me of 
being so unfeminine,” Lucy replied, contemplating, 
with inward satisfaction, the fact that there was no 
room for a misunderstanding between herself and 
Robert ; for she was no longer under the necessity 
of hiding her feelings from him; all was open, 
confessed, and acknowledged between them now. 

Oh, it is not at all unfeminine, I assure you; 
going to a bachelor friend for advice is quite femi- 
nine, and custom has made it honorable ; and it is 
because the ruse is so well known that I feared 
Robert might suspect, and be in doubt what he 
ought to do.” 

‘‘ There is, however, no occasion for asking his 
advice about this matter. I am contented here 
with Rosy, and when she gets tired of me she will 
be candid enough to say so.” 

‘‘Yes, and it is because she is so candid that I 
would try to avoid the mortification by anticipating 
her,” Sarah returned. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


325 


This was almost too much for Lucy to bear, well 
as she had been trained to keep her temper, for to 
be thus counseled as if she had not sense or deli- 
cacy enough to direct her in a matter of this kind 
was an insult she keenly felt. 

Let us say no more about my future, Mrs, 
Davenport ; it is all in the hands of God ; but if 
you have anything to say about your own I will 
hear it with interest,” she said, 

‘‘ Mine is in the hands of God, too, I suppose ; 
for it is said that He cares for the widow as well 
as for the orphan,” she sententiously replied, and 
then abandoned the scheme of using Lucy and her 
money for her own ends and pleasure. 

The idea of restoring to Lucy the third of her 
father’s money was also abandoned as Quixotic, 
and with the decision that characterized her, she 
selected California as her future home, and wrote 
to secure a state-room in the first steamer going 
out. 

There were no hollow professions of sorrow when 
she announced her intention of leaving the house, 
for the cousins had too much self-respect, and 
respect for each other’s intellects, to make an un- 
meaning displaj" of tears and epithets. 

Rosamond accompanied her to Philadelphia, 
and there bade her adieu; but Robert and Lucy 
went to Hew York to see her oft'. 

As she stood in the cabin of the steamer with 
Lucy, she said, — 

“How, Luc}^, I suppose we will never see each 
28 


826 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


other again, and I should like to feel that I carry 
the kind wishes with me that I leave behind with 
you : this parting, you know, is by your consent, 
and under the circumstances I have more cause to 
doubt your affection than you have mine.’’ 

Lucy did not appear to notice the reproach the 
last clause contained, but replied to the first one, — 
You certainly do, Mrs. Davenport ! There is no 
happiness in this life or that to come which I do 
not desire for you ; and when you are far away on 
your voyage I shall think of you, and pray for your 
safe arrival.” 

“Yes! yes! you could do all for your enemies, 
I have no doubt, Lucy !” 

“And what more could I do for myself or my 
friends? I cannot grant the blessings.'’ 

“You can to me, Lucy; I am starved for love, 
and since I left home and came to your father’s 
house I have never had a token of it. You have 
never been politely deceitful ; I have never heard 
you utter a word that was not as true as it was 
kind, and it is this sincerity that makes me feel 
how unfortunate I am in separating from you.” 

From a proud, spirited woman, no words more 
humiliating could be expected, and she was very 
anxious to unite her income with Lucy’s when she 
sued so humbly for her friendship. 

The compliment paid to Lucy’s sincerity only 
made her the more resolved to be sincere, however 
well she wished her stepmother, and she remained 
silent. 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


327 


You have only to say the word, Lucy, and we 
will live together; you need not come with me, 
for I will remain with you ; any place you like we 
will live together, have one common purpose and 
interest as long as we live, and nothing but death 
shall separate us,’’ she continued. 

The Ruthlike devotion of her proposition, and 
the pathos of her voice, were unable to shake Lucy’s 
determination to part from her; she knew by in- 
tuition that her motives were sinister, as the dove 
knows the hawk by instinct. 

The ‘‘word” was not spoken, and Sarah said 
once more, as a last appeal, — 

“ One word, now, Lucy, and the steamer will go 
without me; I will remain here with you !” 

“ Mrs. Davenport, I wish you a safe and pleasant 
voyage from my heart of hearts !” she said, weep- 
ing for the sternness of her own will more than 
for the departure of her cousin, and then they 
parted. Robert, in attending to her baggage, had 
finished his last labors for her, and they left her to 
pursue her course to California, that El Dorado of 
fortune-hunters and husband-seekers. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Two years have elapsed since the preceding 
events were recorded, and I now find myself com- 
pelled by the force of circumstances to add another 
chapter. 

It is a duty I owe to those who have with patience 
followed me through twenty chapters to make my 
narrative as complete as possible, and the two last 
years have given me material with which to do it. 

Time, ever passing, brings before us new scenes, 
and a true light by which to review old ones 
(viewed before, perhaps, through the colored glasses 
of prejudice and self-interest), and as an honest 
man should not hesitate to correct his errors, I find 
it easier to confess mine in the end of the story, 
than search over the whole book for them. 

But, to begin with the events. I will first state 
that Robert and Lucy have been married two 
years, and threaten to disturb the harmony of 
natural laws by never letting their honeymoon 
wane. 

They have a ‘‘ fairy boy,'^ whose portrait Robert 
has painted, in hopes, he tells us, that the picture 
of his innocent infancy might recall the future man 
to the path of virtue, should he stray from it, as 
( 328 ) 


WAS SUE ENGAGED? 


329 


witnessing the child’s worship called the lawless 
robber to repentance in the tale of Paradise and 
the Peri. 

But Lucy and I, who delight in twitting him, 
say that the portrait is the fruits of pride in his 
painting and paternity, because he is constantly 
sending it for exhibition to the art-galleries of our 
principal cities, at the expense of a heavy transit 
insurance. 

However that may be, the picture is one of mar- 
velous beauty and exquisite fineness, and if pro- 
lificness was a characteristic of pictures, I should 
say that it had descended from the one Mr. Daven- 
port had painted and loved before he saw his wife; 
Lucille, with the blue eyes and sunny hair bis 
imagination had given her. 

This is not the only event I have to record. Six 
months after Sarah had sailed for California I re- 
ceived a paper by mail which contained a notice of 
the marriage of Leander Boynton, M.D., and Mrs. 
Sarah C. Davenport, at the Cliflt* House,” in San 
Francisco, and my mind was at once delivered of 
the following impromptu : May disappointment 
never rise, like a phoenix, from the ashes of his 
hopes!” Some may dispute its originality; but, 
‘‘alas! there is nothing original within us, except- 
ing original sin.” 

The poor victim was overtaken and captured by 
the female privateer in the very harbor in which he 
thought he had immunity from the gales and the 
w^ars of matrimony ; and this paper was a com- 
28 * 


330 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


promise with his word, which was pledged to write 
to me of all his adventures. 

Now, with regard to Rosamond. I suppose the 
reader has condemned her to perpetual virginity, 
doing penance for her fickleness by telling over the 
question of her engagement on the buttons of her 
wrapper, while sadly ruminating on what might 
have hee^ii. Not so. There is no question in her 
mind, or in mine, about her engagement now, how- 
ever it was once; for she is engaged, without 
doubt, and will be until she is married ! 

It is to her record I have done injustice, and I 
would gladly have effaced my errors and strictures 
from this tale; but as the spoken word cannot be 
recalled, I will try to place her in a true light in 
my last chapter. 

Rosamond is now twenty-four, but is far more 
charming than when she was twenty, for in 
mind and in person she has improved on herself, 
ardent, aspiring, and progressive as she was from 
the first. Her qualities were all positive, Robert 
said once, but I must add that she had a few nega- 
tive ones. She was never vain, indolent, or selfish, 
and I have found in her one who can advance side 
by side with her husband, instead of holding him 
hack by laziness and lack of appreciation. 

But I have let out my secret, and I must now go 
hack, and tell how it came about. 

As soon as they were married, Robert and Lucy 
moved into the city, and Rosamond came with 
them ; for she said that a young couple ought to 


WAS^' SEE ENGAGED? 


331 


have an old maid in the family to look after their 
morals and manners. 

I could see, however, that their spirits were not 
greatly depressed by her society, for the brightness 
of her eyes, the sprightliness of her wit, and the 
kindliness of her disposition increased every day, 
and rendered the idea of her company being of the 
heavy order preposterous. 

As Lucy had led a retired life while her father 
lived, and had remained fully as retired on the farm 
during the interval that followed from his death 
until her own marriage, the sight-seeing and con- 
cert-going wLich usually belong to courtship came 
after it. 

Rosamond had been practically as secluded by 
her Western life, and everything was as new to her 
as to Lucy. She accompanied them, therefore, 
and, as three do not make a convenient party, I ac- 
com'panied her, which left Robert and Lucy free to 
talk of their own affairs, whenever their interest in 
the entertainment was not kept up. In this way I 
learned to look upon Rosamond as my own friend 
and companion, and the past, in which I thought it 
was treasonable to admire her, was like a dream 
to me. 

Poor, selfish, narrow-minded bigots are we, and 
our prejudice and indifference come of the want 
of knowing our fellow-creatures and ourselves! 
To know Rosamond was to love her, and to be in 
her society was to become acquainted with her; 
for she had' a frank, open w^ay about her which 


332 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


never left me in doubt of her tastes and her 
qualities. 

It seemed as if the scales had fallen from my 
eyes when I viewed in her, expressions, manners, 
moods, and traits of character as different from 
those I had formerly ascribed to her as day is from 
night, and discovered beauties of mind and temper 
which were unknown to me before, well as I had 
thought I was acquainted with her. Maybe they 
w^ere forced to bud and bloom by the appreciation 
they were certain of being greeted with now, for Ro- 
samond could guess how my feelings were disposed 
towards her at all times during our acquaintance. 

She knew when I first began to like her, and 
how much my esteem increased each day, and she 
also knew exactly when my esteem threw off its 
chrysalis and passed into love. 

She had seen how unfavorable an impression she 
had made on my mind at first sight, and how long 
I had retained my prejudice, though she had not 
betrayed her knowledge by pettishness or retalia- 
tion ; for Rosamond, I am happy to say, never had 
that petulance and fretfulness which her sex excuse 
in themselves as nervousness, and I will not, there- 
fore, have a nervous wife. 

As she was aware of my feelings, I had a smooth 
road before me. If I retained her hand longer than 
w^as necessary at parting, she did not appear to no- 
tice it; and if I pressed her arm too emphatically 
when it rested on mine, she was in blissful ignorance 
of the fact. There had never been the slightest ap- 


WAS SUE ENGAGED? 


333 


proach to a flirtation between ns, and, as my sin- 
cerity was not doubted, it was received with sin- 
cerity in return. 

At last the time came when I could no longer 
contain my love, and I asked and obtained my peer- 
less girl. 

We had ridden together one day far into the 
country (for Rosamond did not entirely give up her 
favorite exercise when she returned to live in the 
city), and by some accidental remark my old say- 
ing, that the hand which held the bridle firmly 
would be firm and true in friendship, was recalled. 
She had so often betrayed her eagerness in adopt- 
ing my sentiments, and proved their hold on her 
memory, that I was not surprised to hear her 
revive this doubtful maxim of mine; and I at once 
took the opportunity of asking for the hand which 
was then firmly, though gracefully, holding the 
reins. According to novelists of a certain school, 
she should have started, fainted, and fallen oft*, or 
at least trembled like an aspen-leaf; but she did 
neither, for the time which would be wasted in so 
doing was used to relieve me of suspense. 

With a grave, blushing, but frank face, she 
assured me that I could have her hand, as she 
always expected to give it with her heart, and I 
was already in possession of that. 

It was then I learned how long; for with her hand 
and heart she seemed to resign her right to keep 
any of her old or new feelings or secrets from me. 

Our love relation was too novel and strange to 


334 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


US to enable us to speak or think of the future, so 
our thoughts naturally reverted to the past, and 
the raany unexplained mysteries of our long ac- 
quaintance. 

You did not like me at all when you first knew 
me,” she said, half reproachfully, giving her inno- 
cent pony a smart tap on the neck, but turning 
her face to me with demure gentleness for expla- 
nation. 

The vision of the old library, and her entrance, 
looking so stiff and dignified, rose before me in an 
instant, and I felt guilty of misjudging her; but 
I answered evasively, by asking a question in re- 
turn, for I remembered that Lucy had led her into 
error by telling her I was a great admirer of dig- 
nity. 

Why do you think I did not admire you when 
I met you first. Rosy dear?” 

Because you scarcely looked at me, and you 
seemed indifferent to everything I said.” 

Very impolite of me; and as I could not defend 
my manners or my taste, I compelled herself to 
act on the defensive and let my weak points alone. 

‘‘But you were as severe on me: you snubbed 
me with your dignity, stunned me with your self- 
complacence, and crushed me with your learning.” 

“ I was then an ignorant, silly girl, and you made 
me appear worse by indifference and lack of appre- 
ciation,” she returned. 

“How could you know I did not admire you? 
It would have been rude of me to tell you so on a 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


335 


short acquaintance, and you have often said you 
did not like flattery/^ 

“ Well, I do not like flattery; but if you had then 
flattered me, just a little, by a look even, I would 
have been better pleased with myself and with 
you : as it was, I felt greatly mortified with the 
result of our introduction, for Lucy had assured 
me that we would be delighted with each other.’’ 

‘‘Ah, the gentle mischief-maker ! it was she who 
also told you that I admired dignified people, and 
persuaded you to overwhelm me by your stately 
entrance into the library,” I said, and I clasped the 
face that appealed to me in mute surprise. 

No one except a stupid man could have heard 
that secret from Lucy without knowing why she 
had tried to be dignified, and sought my admira- 
tion with the crudeness of her Western training. 

Her interest in my pursuits and her self-abnega- 
tion in conforming her tastes to mine, as I often 
accidentally discovered, ought to have taught me 
the story of her love long before her lips had con- 
fessed it ; for so wholly could she give everything, 
small and great, where her heart was bestowed, 
that I even found, in looking over her handwriting, 
she had learned to make her capitals like mine, 
odd as they were in many instances, and in several 
other ways betrayed an assimilating tendency 
which could only be the spontaneous fruits of an 
unselfish love. 

However, I did not speak of this then, for I 
merely remarked that I thought she was destined 


336 


WAS SHE ENGAGED f 


by fate for Robert, and therefore not eligible to 
my admiration. 

‘‘But could you not admire me even if I could 
not be your wife ? Is it not selfishness to depre- 
ciate a thing because it does not belong to your- 
self?” she asked. 

I.could not gainsay it; so to defend myself I 
was compelled to attack her again, — 

“ So you would have been better pleased with 
me had I shown more admiration for you when we 
first met?” 

“Yes, I was angry with you for turning to Mr. 
Davenport so soon, as if you thought I was a ver- 
dant, uninteresting country-girl.’’ 

“ And then, afterwards, when I turned with more 
appreciation to you, and seemed to be interested 
in your tastes and ideas, you liked me a good deal 
better ?” 

“ Yes, I loved you, and would from the first 
moment had you not shown such a superb indiffer- 
ence towards me.” 

“But is not that a species of self-love, Rosy ? 
To be displeased at a man because he does not 
bow down and worship you, and then, afterwards, 
to like him better because he shows a greater sense 
of your merits, is not loving the man, but your- 
self. What shall I do with you, dear?- You love 
yourself, and not me, after all !” 

“No, I love you, and ever will; and you must 
take my self-love with myself, for I do not think 
we can ever be separated,” she said, with the frank- 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


337 


ness and confidence of a girl who knows how well 
she is beloved. 

‘‘ Willingly. I would not have you a single iota 
less in anything. I have known you too long to 
doubt your love, or your knowledge of your own 
heart, and, in fact, I think you have loved me for 
many years,'’ I returned. 

Yes, I have, almost from the time I first met 
you, only sometimes I thought I would never get 
you, and I tried to feel indififerent.” 

Admiration, wonder, and self-condemnation kept 
me silent for awhile ; for here was a girl, who was 
not half an hour my betrothed, speaking as freely 
as if she had been my wife for years, though she 
had never, before I asked her for it, betrayed the 
love she cherished under such unfavorable circum- 
stances. She also spoke of getting me’’ with a 
self-abasement which entirely ignored my good 
fortune in getting her. 

But such is the case ; the more a woman gives a 
man, or sacrifices for him, the more she will love 
liim and forget self. Her truth, good sense, and 
holy purposes seem nothing in her own mind ; she 
brings her gifts to the altar with humility, and is 
grateful because they are accepted. 

It is she who has nothing to give who loves least, 
thinks most of self, demands and absorbs every- 
thing and makes no return. 

‘‘Well, the mistakes of the past are corrected 
now, and let them be forgotten in our life, dear, 
where heart shall be open to heart for evermore,” 
29 


338 


WAS SHF ENGAGED? 


I said, after my surprise had been overcome ; and 
my horse reared because the bridle hand was heavy 
on his mouthbit, as my arm strained Rosy to my 
heart. 

So then it was because you loved me that you 
dismissed Dr. Boynton in such a queenly manner, 
and sent him to California with a wound in his 
head 

‘‘You looked so withering at me when he 
stretched out on the lounge, though I do not sup- 
pose the simple coxcomb intended me any disre- 
spect by doing it. You do not know what a bitter 
cry I had when he left me alone, for I supposed I 
had forfeited your good opinion, and was afraid to 
look up at you when you returned with Lucy.” 

“ And for me you broke off that long engage- 
ment with Robert, — our own peer?” 

Her gloved hand was laid over my mouth, and 
she cried out, earnestly and reprovingly, — 

“ I was never engaged to him, or to any one else; 
it was only a foolish misunderstanding. You and 
Robert conspired to betray us, and divide the spoil 
according to your own pleasure ; but we conquered, 
Lucy and I, and you are taken and appropriated 
yourselves.” 

Just so. Robert and I had often confessed as 
much to each other ; for neither of us are sensitive 
of the blunders of the past. His attentions, and 
my seeming indifference, had forced poor Rosa- 
mond into the embarrassing position from which 
her own good sense and true heart finally extricated 


WAS SHE ENGAGED? 


339 


her; and we shall hereafter laugh at our blunders 
in once making love to each other’s wives. 

We had set out on the journey of life as philoso- 
phers, provided, as we thought, with knowledge 
and rules for weighing, measuring, and demonstra- 
ting all the uncertainties of mind and matter, but 
before we had reached our thirtieth milestone we 
found that our rules were uncertain, our philosophy 
was crude, and we knew nothing at all. 

We are now humble, though happy, and, as we 
are not too old to learn yet, we hope the past ex- 
perience will not be lost upon us ; but that, with 
help and encouragement from our fair and loving 
wives, we may become wise and useful, if not re- 
markable, men. 


THE END. 



r 






















E 

A 



.Av- 


A A 




■S'^Si 


kSsSe 





r'lAr^ 







r 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


0DD22SEbbl7 




..*T. . ■, f ^C^.• -'^'/r--' - t-' -■■ 

* H r. I -■ V ., - .• 


. t* 






»if 

' •. V.'’ 


‘.*T I* . . •> ' - •' ;*'•*’* tJ- ' Wt* . '• ** ,r ^4- » ♦ li -*’= 'V * 















